Blazing Trinity
by metallover
Summary: AU. When the world of Elibe is threatened by an ancient darkness it falls to four young heroes, the Lycian Lords Lyn, Eliwood, Hector and their dour strategist Mark, to stand firm in the face of chaos and madness. Once more the blood of heroes rises to defend the realm! A loose adaptation of Nintendo's classic Fire Emblem game – Blazing Blade.
1. Chapter 1

**(The following is a work of fanfiction and love. Fire Emblem: Blazing Blade and all related terminology remain property of Nintendo and Intelligent Systems. Please don't sue me.)**

 **Introduction**

 **Oh my god it's finally happening! Ladies and Gentlemen, my attempted novelization of the game that started it all, Fire Emblem (Blazing Blade)! As always I have strove to write this so that people with no background knowledge of the game can read and enjoy it. But if you enjoy this story then please consider dropping a few bucks on Nintendo's e-store to try it out. It's really a great game.**

 **I swear to Naga and the Light and whatever else that I will eventually finish this story. No matter how long it takes. But** _ **Blazing Blade**_ **was a LOT longer than** _ **Awakening**_ **, so this… this is gonna take a while.**

 **Read, review and enjoy!**

* * *

 **Arc 1: A Daughter of Caelin**

* * *

 **Chapter 1**

A beautiful sea of green grass waving in the wind spread out in all directions, the overhead sun in the brilliant blue sky painting everything beneath it with its benevolent radiance. A few trees dotted the horizon, but apart from that all around was a sea of green melting into a vast and seemingly endless ocean of blue.

Not even a cloud passed before the sun to offer the weary traveller trudging through the scenic beauty of the Sacaen plains any respite from the beating heat.

Still he plodded along, unwilling to even take off and carry his beloved brown coat, so large on his lanky frame it almost resembled a mage's robe, suffering in silence in the name of his favourite garment.

"Argh! It's so freaking hot! I mean seriously! With all this grass you'd think there'd be some bloody water around! This is worse than a desert!"

Well… the figure plodded along in near silence.

The solitary figure ran a hand through his scruffy brown hair, attempting to keep the sweat-soaked strands out of his face. He wore plain travelling clothes beneath the coat, momentarily visible as he reached up, an unadorned leather vest over a cream shirt two sizes too big and brown trousers; the only interesting things to note about the boy were the pouch at his hip and his thin, elegant rapier strapped opposite it.

He let out another sigh, stopping dead in his tracks and sinking to a sitting position, arms out behind him as he stared up at the endless blue sky.

Mark, all of eighteen and full of the reckless brand of confidence youth instils in young men, had set out from home with barely a backwards glance and shouted farewell to his family, so eager he was to live up to the incredible legacy of his family.

"Maybe leaving home so early wasn't such a great idea, after all…" he muttered.

His mother had warned him against it, even going so far as to forbid him until he was 'ready'. So, deciding that he knew best, he'd snuck out with just a note left behind. Now he had the coat and the sword and he'd gone off on an adventure to become a great tactician, just like his mother had, his uncle and aunt had, and their father had, and his mother had, and so on and so forth. Generations of his family, tacticians and adventurers and heroes, the lot of them.

And, just like all of their adventures apparently started, he had absolutely no idea where he was. Or where he was going. Or what he was going to do when he got there.

But, according to his Grandmother, that was a familial trait, and according to his Aunt, that was part of the fun.

Mark let himself fall backwards with a soft thump, his arms stretched out on the blanket of grass and idly wondering where he would find water to fill his empty waterskin or food to fill his empty stomach as he stared upwards and let out a mighty yawn.

He really was exhausted from all the walking…

* * *

Mark blinked himself awake a few hours later.

A momentary panic gripped him, sending him shooting into a sitting position and coming face to face with a young girl, her arms laden with bowls and a surprised look on her face matching the one on Mark's.

They stared at each other for a few moments, Mark unable to think about anything besides how strikingly beautiful the girl was, until she smiled at him and set down the bowls. He wasn't ashamed to say that her smile made him a little giddy, but when he calmed himself he realised that it didn't reach her lovely green eyes.

Her features were sharp, yet soft at the same time; he attributed the sharpness to those piercing eyes that matched her strange shirt-dress… thingy that covered her upper-arms yet left her perfect, toned legs bare, split up the sides almost to her hips. Her long dark-green hair was tied back in a neat ponytail that reached almost to her waist, the hair itself silken and shining, despite clearly not having been washed properly in some time.

In the light of the tent's single oil lamp Mark wasn't afraid to admit that the stranger looked like an angel.

"Good, you're awake," she said to him in a soft voice as she moved to his side, moving to sit next to the bedroll he was in. "I found you unconscious on the plains. You know there are better places to fall asleep than in the middle of a field, right?"

"But this whole nation's one giant field…" Mark said weakly, still held in rapture by her beauty.

The girl looked at Mark uncomprehending for a moment before chuckling a little and smiling that fake smile again.

"So it is," she said. "But it's not safe to do so. There are bandits everywhere these days."

Her tone dropped and she looked away as she made her warning, sending alarm bells ringing in Mark's mind.

"Er… right," he nodded, scooting away from her a little.

He glanced around the… tent? Why was he in a tent? His sword sat over to one side atop his neatly folded coat. He was… in a bedroll?

"Did… you bring me here?" he asked slowly when the girl remained silent, staring off into space.

She glanced up at him, nodding once at his query.

"Thanks?" he said, her behaviour confusing him.

"I'm Lyndis!" the girl said quickly, realising she'd been staring into space. "I'm… I am from the Lorca Tribe. But… my friends called me Lyn."

Mark had to work hard to contain his curiosity at her use of the past tense as he extended a hand to her and put on his own fake smile, still unsure as to what she wanted from him. It wasn't like he had much money, and he didn't even know if they would take the silver coins or single lonely gold coin at the bottom of his pouch, both from his homeland, here. Wherever here was.

"I'm Mark," he said, speaking levelly.

Lyn looked at the appendage for a moment before grasping it. Mark pumped their hands up and down a few times, marvelling at the strength of her hands despite their small size, and the roughness of the skin on her palms obviously born from years of training with a blade. They were the same type of hands his mother and aunt had, and that thought put Mark at ease a little.

He remained on guard once they separated again, though. She was still a stranger, after all.

"Mark," Lyn repeated, turning the word over in her mouth a few times as if testing its taste. "Mark… that is foreign, yes?"

He nodded an affirmative.

"It is a strange name…" Lyn muttered to herself, before looking up when she realised she had spoken aloud.

"Oh, but it is a good name!" she said hastily when she noticed Mark's raised brow. "Please, pay me no mind!"

"Uh-huh," he said, unsure whether making fun of her name, too, would get him stabbed or not.

"So what brings you to Sacae, Mark?" Lyn asked, her eyes brightening a little for the first time since Mark had started speaking to her. "Would you share your story with me?"

He shrugged, deciding to be upfront about his reasons for travelling. "Honestly? I'm just wandering around. I've been training to be a tactician my whole life, and I figured I was due for some real world experience. So I've been trying to find a mercenary band or something to work for. It's… well, you saw me passed out in the middle of the field. I'm lost."

Lyn burst out laughing at his frank admission, practically rolling onto her back as she held her sides, Mark waiting patiently for the girl to finish.

"So I assume, then, that you have not eaten?" she said, her tone still tinged with mirth.

Mark nodded woodenly, completely overcome with how radiant she looked when she smiled honestly like this. Then his thoughts turned to more pressing concerns as the scent of whatever was in those bowls wafted over to him with a fresh breeze from outside the tent.

Lyn perked up, her expression changing in a flash as she glanced behind her.

"Wait here," she said quietly, her tone brokering no disagreement.

In one fluid motion she rose to her feet and grabbed for a beaten-up old sword near the tent's entrance, stepping outside into the night.

 _Night?_ Mark thought as he scratched his head. _How hungry was I that I passed out all afternoon?_

After a few seconds Lyn returned, her face stormy as she entered the small tent.

"Bandits," she said, spitting the word as if it were a curse.

"What?" Mark asked, shakily climbing out of the bedroll.

"They must have come down from the Bern Mountains," Lyn explained, obviously half thinking aloud. "They're obviously planning to raid the nearby villages…"

She glanced up, meeting Mark's eyes. The passion in her gaze nearly knocked him flat.

"I have to stop them," she said with fire blazing in her piercing eyes.

Mark froze as Lyn turned and strode confidently from the tent. He grinned, shaking his head a little and following after her.

"Wait for me!" he called out softly, slipping his coat on in one fluid motion and grabbing his rapier. As an afterthought he grabbed one of the bowls Lyn had prepared, drinking the weak broth as he rushed after her.

Fortunately she hadn't gone far, crouching behind a small copse of trees standing forlorn and alone in the plains with her sword already in hand. She noticed him almost as soon as he stepped out of the tent and waved the would-be tactician over.

"What are you doing?" she asked in a hushed whisper once he crouched down next to her.

Mark shrugged innocently as he carefully placed the now-empty wooden bowl down near the tree where it would be safe.

"Tactician can't fight on an empty stomach," he said with a grin. "I'll pay for the soup later. Haven't we got bandits to slay?"

Lyn's eyes went wide, her mouth working a moment without making any sound. Clearly he had surprised her.

"You… you would help me?" she asked incredulously. "You… know that I cannot pay you, nor guarantee your safety, Mark. You do not even know me!"

"What's life without a little risk?" he asked, drawing his rapier. "Besides, this is what I wanted! Life experience."

Lyn's shocked expression changed into one of deep gratitude as she nodded.

"Very well," she said, turning to face the bandits again. "Thank you. Stay close to me."

Mark nodded, edging closer to the trees with Lyn. Three bandits, obviously some sort of scouting force, were wandering through the plains with seemingly little objective. Forward scouts, then, Mark decided. Bandits were supposed to be similar to mercenaries; they fought in bands and groups, the smarter ones sending advance scouts to ensure that their path was clear of danger.

"We need to get closer," Lyn muttered.

"We can't," Mark said. "There's no cover. The second we step out from behind these trees we become targets."

Lyn nodded.

"So, tactician?" she asked him with an excited grin over her shoulder. "What is our plan?"

Mark couldn't help but return her grin.

"Rush 'em and try not to die?" he suggested, earning a strange look from Lyn.

"Don't look at me like that," Mark huffed, pointing to the three bandits clearly illuminated by the moonlight. "There's three of them spread out and no cover. You rush the closest one and take him by surprise, then I'll jump out and take the second one when he comes charging to his friend's aid, and we'll both gang up on the last one. Like my teacher always said, 'brilliant tactics don't necessarily need to be complicated; the more you cram in, the more can go wrong'."

Lyn nodded her understanding.

"They sound truly wise," she said respectfully.

Mark nodded, grinning again. "Are we doing this?"

Lyn nodded, too, her beautiful face setting into a firm scowl.

"Right," Mark said, his voice dropping to a whisper as the closest bandit drew nearer. "Rush out, keep low, and keep quiet. Once you take him, get the next one's attention and once he rushes over I'll jump out, too."

"Understood," Lyn said, darting out from behind the tree at the nearest bandit.

It was like nothing Mark had ever seen before, watching Lyn fight. She moved silently, so close to the ground she was skimming just above the blades of grass like the wind. The bandit, a shirtless man easily three times the girl's size was looking right at her, but he didn't see the silent and wrathful girl until she had already run him through in a show of blistering speed. Her sword danced two more times and the bandit fell with barely a sound.

In fact she was so fast and silent that the other two hadn't noticed her.

Mark let out an involuntary laugh as her confused expression changed to slightly embarrassed understanding when she realised this, which had the effect that they had been looking for by killing the first of the bandits. The other two turned towards Lyn, spotting her light green dress against the purple backdrop of the starlit night as she stood over their fallen comrade.

"Okay," Mark muttered to himself, his grip on his sword tightening as he carefully controlled his breathing in anticipation. "Just like practice; flow through the motions. Flow through the motions… I can do this!"

The other two bandits rushed over, Lyn stepping back and adopting a defensive posture in preparation to meet their charge. As soon as Mark judged that the nearest was close enough, another shirtless man built like a brick wall wielding an axe, the tactician sprinted out.

Using the techniques his teachers had drilled into him Mark spun on his forward foot, bringing his thin sword down from shoulder-height on the surprised bandit and opening the man's torso with his spin. He barely had a chance to scream before Mark arrested his spin and flicked his sword back, slicing the bandit's throat open.

"This is too easy!" Mark laughed, grinning at Lyn as his confidence grew.

His grin faltered when he noticed the look of fear on Lyn's face, making him glance over his shoulder and curse.

"Oh boy…" he managed to mutter moments before flying through the air after being struck full-force in the side by the angry bandit leader.

"Mark!" Lyn cried, roughly throwing herself at the hulking bandit and being dealt a similar blow by the big man's back-swing.

Lyn gasped, falling away from the bandit and doing her best to roll away from him. Mark could do little more than lay there, waiting for the stars to clear from his vision and his head to stop spinning.

"Who do you think you are!?" the bandit shouted angrily. "Do you think you can stand up to Batta the Beast!?"

Mark let out an involuntary snicker at the bandit's lame nickname, probably thought up by himself. His laugh made him wince as pain shot through his ribs. The bandit spun on the prone tactician, his face turning red in his rage as he forgot Lyn entirely and began to stomp back towards Mark.

"Yeah, funny," he growled. "Let's see how well you laugh when I cut out your tongue, little man."

The bandit let out an enraged howl, lurching to the side as Lyn leapt onto his back sword-first, managing to get the old weapon to pierce the bandit's thick leather armour.

"Mark! Run!" she cried desperately. "Please! You must flee-"

Whatever else she was going to say was cut off when Batta reached over his shoulder and finally caught a hold of Lyn's dress, throwing her over his head to land on top of Mark in a heap. Mark cursed again as all the air was forced from his lungs, barely rallying in time to throw Lyn off of him and roll the opposite direction as Batta brought his axe down where they had been lying a moment ago.

A real sense of fear and dread rose up in Mark's chest as he came up onto one knee, looking into the snarling, bestial face of the bandit as he loomed over the young girl.

"Hold still, ya Nomad tart!" Batta snarled, hefting his axe and turning towards Lyn.

Mark shook his still-spinning head and rose shakily to his feet. Lyn was doing likewise across from him, but with a much more determined set to her features. In fact the intensity to her beautiful face was almost feral; it was one of the most terrifying things Mark had ever seen, up there with his mother and aunt fighting.

"Be gone from this place!" she shouted, readying her sword and foolishly charging Batta head-on again.

Mark groaned in irritation, readying his own sword and running at the bandit as quietly as he could, slipping his razor-sharp rapier through the bandit's leather armour easily and running him through before he realized where Mark was. Lyn took advantage of Batta's distraction as the bandit reached around to swipe at the smaller man and slashed her old sword across his throat, and the bigger man finally fell.

"Jeez, it was like fighting a mountain!" Mark complained loudly, falling down into a sitting position.

Lyn nodded, staring down at the bandit's corpse.

"I'm sorry," she said at length, her disappointed tone of voice making Mark glance up again.

"I sorely underestimated them," she said. "I… I need to be stronger if I'm going to survive. If you hadn't been here…"

"We'd both be dead," Mark sighed, cutting her off. "You, killed by bandits. Me, dead from starvation lying on a plain somewhere."

Lyn looked at Mark curiously a moment before breaking into a tired smile.

"You are right," she said, before a look of fear crossed her face again and she rushed to the tactician's side.

"Hold, I saw you take a blow that would have cloven most men in half! Are you alright? Let me see your wounds…"

"Huh? Wounds?" he asked, thinking back as the girl's hands started probing at his side.

"There's… no blood…" she whispered in awe.

"Argh! It still hurts, though! Stop poking!" Mark cried out.

"How is this possible?" Lyn asked, wide eyed.

"My coat's reinforced," Mark explained, sitting up a little and gingerly rubbing his side. There was a large hole in the outer layer of the coat now, revealing the second layer beneath. "It's lined with hardened leather plates. Heavy, but it offers extra protection. I don't know if you noticed, but I'm not much of a fighter."

Lyn looked at the brown leather clothing with a newfound respect before carefully helping Mark to his feet.

"Come," she said. "Let's go back to the tent."

* * *

The next morning Mark turned over, reluctant to allow wakefulness to get its claws into him, however he conceded to it once he realised he was already mostly conscious again, anyway.

He lay there on his side, using his coat as a make-shift blanket and replaying the events from the previous night in his mind. He had killed two people last night; it was the first time he'd ever taken a life, and he was ashamed to admit he'd barely even hesitated to do it. He also kept playing back the pained look Lyn had adopted once the fighting was done. He had no idea what had happened to the girl to make her look so haunted or throw herself so recklessly at her foes, but he had decided that he wanted to help her. And not just because she was pretty. Well… mostly not just because she was pretty.

Sighing a little he slowly sat up, doing his best to ignore the ache in his ribs from the previous evening. He would have to track down a needle and some thread now to repair his coat, too…

"Good morning, Mark," Lyn said cheerily from the other side of the tent. "Good to see you awake. That fight last night must have taken a lot out of you; the sun has already been up for a few hours."

The young tactician nodded and yawned, stretching his arms above his head and wincing at the twinge from his ribs.

"I'd say it was more the axe than the fighting itself…" he muttered, rubbing his side. "How are you holding up?"

"I am fine," Lyn assured him, laughing a little. "I am used to far worse."

Mark nodded, and Lyn stood as she passed him a bowl of the same broth from the previous evening. He wasn't about to complain, though; he was still ravenously hungry.

"Man, I feel like I haven't eaten in weeks!" He said, sipping from the bowl. "It really tastes great. Thank you, Lyn."

"It is my pleasure, Mark," she smiled, returning back to her sitting position near the tent's entrance.

Lyn grew quiet while Mark slowly ate. Once he finished, and she still hadn't said anything he set the bowl to one side, rising and pulling his coat back on before moving and sitting across from the girl. It wasn't easy to do, either; she had let down her hair the previous evening, and it fell around her shoulders like a silken waterfall, perfectly framing her face in a way that made it incredibly difficult to look at her and remain focused, before pooling on the floor of the tent around her. She silently met his gaze, taking a deep breath before starting to talk.

"Mark, I want to talk to you about something," Lyn said hesitantly.

"Shoot," he offered lightly, idly balancing one of the empty bowls on the tips of his fingers.

"You obviously have some experience in the ways of war. Your journey… to become a tactician," Lyn said, the words practically tumbling out of her mouth now. "Would you allow me to join you?"

Mark blinked a few times at the sudden request, his head quirking to one side as he processed it. "I'm, uh, not really equipped to teach you how to be a tactician…"

"I merely wish to travel with you," Lyn explained, never once breaking eye contact, her hopeful and pleading gaze cutting right through him.

"I… don't have a problem with it," he said after a moment of thought. "But shouldn't we ask your parents or tribe or whatever first? I don't want people to think I'm kidnapping you or something…"

Lyn's gaze snapped down as if he had struck her. There was an awkward moment of silence in which Mark wondered if he should start to run before Lyn spoke again.

"My mother and father died six months ago," she said in a small voice. "My people… the Lorca… they don't…"

She took a deep breath before looking back up at Mark, not even trying to hide the pain and tears in her eyes.

"I am the last of my tribe," she said in a thick voice before looking away again.

"Oh, wow, I had… no idea… I'm so sorry. If you don't want to talk about it…" Mark said awkwardly.

"No, I would have you… know the truth of my story," Lyn explained. "So that you might understand why I wish to travel with you."

Mark nodded silently, waiting for her to continue and respectfully placing the bowl back on the ground. A few more moments passed as Lyn composed herself before finally speaking.

"Bandits attacked," she said in a shaky voice, her shoulders beginning to tremble slightly. "They killed… so many people. The tribe was… scattered. My father was our chief, and I wanted to protect our people. But I was so young, and the people are old fashioned. They would not follow a woman… No one would… follow me…"

Lyn let out a soft sniffle as a surprised Mark moved to sit at her side, only hesitating a moment before wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

"I'm sorry," Lyn said, taking a deep breath. "I've been alone for so long…"

Mark nodded again. This explained a lot of her behaviour the previous evening, including her suicidal desire to see all the bandits dead.

"Don't worry about it," he soothed, tightening his grip a little.

Lyn took another deep breath and stood, gently shaking off Mark's arm.

"No… I will shed no more tears," she said, her voice becoming clear again.

A few moments passed before Lyn turned to face Mark again, dry eyed now and full of confidence.

"Thank you, Mark. I feel better," she said gratefully as the tactician rose to his feet. "Please, Mark," Lyn said, taking one of his hands in both of hers. "I must become stronger. I must become stronger so that I can avenge my father's death. I must become stronger so that this kind of evil never happens again. Yesterday's battle taught me that I still have much to learn, and that I will not learn it sitting here alone."

The tactician nodded, agreeing with her sentiments. "Well, at least you've got a solid base…"

"Please, Mark," Lyn practically begged as she stepped towards him. "Tell me you'll take me with you."

"Okay, okay!" he said pulling his hand free and taking a step back in the cramped tent, his face starting to blush from the strength of Lyn's emotions as he looked away. "I'm not going to turn you down, not after you obviously spent so much time working on that speech."

"Truly?" Lyn asked.

Mark nodded, flinching when Lyn threw her arms around his neck and hugged him in her happiness.

"That is wonderful! Oh, thank you so much!" Lyn cried happily as Mark tried to subtly ease himself from her embrace.

"We'll be better off working together, I just know it," Lyn said with a beaming smile once she stepped back from Mark.

The tactician just nodded, his face still red as he looked away from Lyn.

"You'll be my master tactician, and I'll be your peerless warrior!" she went on, quickly beginning to pack her few belongings in the tent.

"We can do it, right?" she asked, smiling over her shoulder at Mark.

He was struck speechless by such an innocent smile for a moment before he regained his wits and managed to nod.

"Of course we can," he said, smiling himself. "But rule number one is 'no more suicide-charges at bandits'. We fight smart, understand?"

"I believe that sounds fair," Lyn laughed, brushing a stray lock of hair out of her face.

* * *

Mark had to admit, Lyn was in a much better mood now than she had been as she led the tactician across the ocean of grass. She chatted about inconsequential things, telling Mark about the local customs so fast he couldn't get a word in edgewise. Obviously she had been lonely, living alone on the plains for so long.

A young sword-fighter and a trainee-tactician on a journey to improve their skills; it made Mark chuckle a little to himself. They made an odd pair, but Lyn was surprisingly likeable. She wasn't at all like the other dour Nomads he'd met on the plains so far, something he put to a combination of her unique personality and her youth.

"First we should stop for more supplies," Lyn said cheerfully. "I still have some food left, but with the two of us it won't last long. The closest town is Bulgar; it is the commercial centre of Sacae, and I have been there a few times. You have no objections to starting there?"

"Yeah, that's fine. To tell the truth I still have no idea where I-"

"Good!" Lyn said excitedly, cutting him off. "Their inn is one of the finest in all of Sacae, and the meals are amazing! We shall have to stay the evening there. Ah, by the mother sky it has been so long since I have washed my hair properly…"

Mark sighed, grinning a little to himself as Lyn went off on another tangent about Sacaen dress and hairstyles, and how they were an important part of social life.

At least he was learning things about the culture…

Mark perked up a little, spotting the sunlight glinting off of something in the distance.

"What is it, Mark?" Lyn asked when she realised he'd stopped.

He squinted, making out two riders moving at a fair clip through the plains; men in armour, rather than the leathers and flowing garments of the Sacaen Nomads, riding in the same direction they were.

"Riders," he reported. "Two of them. Looks like they're heading to the town as well."

"Knights?" Lyn repeated, shading her eyes and trying to spot them, too. "In Sacae? That is strange."

"Unless they're mercenary knights it's got nothing to do with us," Mark shrugged, hitching the pack he was carrying for Lyn further up on his back.

The young swordswoman nodded, an uncertain look crossing her features before she moved to catch up with Mark.

* * *

"So this is Bulgar?" Mark asked as he looked around that evening.

Everywhere around him people were going about their lives, ignoring the newcomer as they slipped between wooden buildings and canvas merchant stalls lining the rutted dirt street. Merchants were loudly shouting and hocking their wares while apprentices raced around underfoot, making deliveries or picking up materials their masters would need for the next day's work. All of this was accompanied by gratuitous laughter and the smell of roasting meat; it was as though there was a festival going on to Mark's untrained eye, even though according to Lyn it was always like this. The lively atmosphere was making Mark smile just from standing in the street.

"I love this city," Lyn sighed, leading him through the press of people. "It is so alive, so vibrant. It is the jewel of Sacae, full of colour and passion."

Mark nodded, forced to agree with her as he watched men toasting a hard day's work in the stalls outside the bars lining one street. It was such a lively place he almost considered just staying there; he was good with numbers and had a keen intellect, no doubt he'd make a fine merchant's apprentice. One look at Lyn's smiling face, however, quelled those thoughts as he recalled his promise to her. They had a quest to undertake, even if it was still only a vague idea.

Lyn led them down one of the side-roads, past merchants' apprentices as they closed up the shops for the day while their masters sat out back counting their profits. She stopped outside of one of the smaller inns, looking expectantly at Mark.

"It looks… clean?" he said, unsure of how to respond to her look.

"It is the best inn in Bulgar," Lyn said happily, moving to open the door and hesitating. "Just… don't sign anything the inn-keeper hands you. In fact, just let me do the talking. She gets a little excitable around new customers."

A bell on the back of the simple wooden door chimed as Lyn pushed it open, stepping into the dim interior and leaving Mark to follow her with unasked questions still on the tip of his tongue.

He reeled and clutched his ears when a loud, high-pitched squeal assaulted him, a red blur moving to meet them at the door.

"Lyndis, dear!" a thin woman with bright red hair tied back into a ponytail shrieked. "It's been too long! I'm glad to see you're still alive!"

"Good evening, Anna," Lyn said, half a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "We're looking for some rooms."

"We?" the innkeeper, Anna, parroted before her gaze fell on Mark.

"Hello and welcome to Anna's Inn!" she shouted cheerily, practically bowling Lyn over in her haste to get to the tactician. "You'll find no better rooms in Bulgar or all of Sacae! Plus the inn sports the most beautiful innkeeper in the city, too! You're in for a treat tonight, young man!"

Anna broke into a fit of giggles as she gripped at a stunned Mark's arm and dragged him further into the inn.

"Lyn save me," Mark whispered as the innkeeper manhandled him past his partner.

* * *

That night, on the first soft bed he'd slept on since he had made the journey to Sacae, Mark lay awake and staring at the ceiling. Dinner had been huge and hearty, not to mention dirt cheap. Apparently Anna really liked Lyn and had thus only charged them for the cost of the ingredients; which was good, because Mark had yet to actually make any local money since coming to the land of plains and sky.

Lyn had talked merrily with the innkeeper while they had eaten and Mark had been able to observe and learn a little more about his new travelling companion. Such as the fact she had made the trip to Bulgar at least four times since she'd lost her tribe, each time choosing to stay at Anna's inn; even before that the plucky innkeeper had apparently had some dealings with the Lorca, and fussed over Lyn almost like one would a little sister. Other travellers, nomads that apparently had once held ties to the Lorca, had talked with them, too, and Mark had been completely left out to eat his meal in silence as he observed and listened. The older men, merchants and clanless mercenaries that had worked with the Lorca, all knew Lyn and they had talked late into the night about things that he hadn't even tried to follow. But Mark was man enough to admit that it made him a strange sort of jealous.

After the meal they had retired to adjoining rooms on the second floor, Anna promising to bring up tubs full of hot water that they could clean themselves with. Mark had made good use of the down-time, chronicling his journey so far in the little mole-skin journal he carried everywhere with him and even managing to do a passable job at shaving the fine hairs from his face with his dagger before thoroughly cleaning himself. He felt like a new man, but he still couldn't get his hair to sit neatly.

The young would-be tactician let out a sigh, resting the back of his hand on his forehead.

Lyn was clearly held in high regard here; and why not? She was the daughter of the Lorca's late chief, which would make her the Sacaen equivalent of their princess. It stood to reason that she would be well known and well received by the allies of her tribe. Mark even surmised that if she had wanted to reunite the tribe she could even become the new Lorca chieftain herself.

Lyn had obviously needed the socialization of the evening, too; from what Mark had been able to pick up so far the Nomads were a social people that loved to drink and talk and tell stories. It appeared to be an important part of their social structure, and being deprived of that would have been hard for Lyn.

A soft knock at the door interrupted the young man's thoughts, making him shoot into a sitting position and automatically reach for the small dagger on his bedside table.

"Yes?" he called out softly.

"Mark, are you still awake?"

He relaxed, tossing the weapon back onto the table as he rested his back against the bed's headboard.

"Yeah. What's wrong?"

Lyn opened the door, stepping somewhat timidly inside Mark's room and quickly looking around.

"I did not wake you?" she asked.

"I was just trying to organize my thoughts," he said kindly, indicating she sit on the chair in the corner of his room. "What can I do for you, Lyn?"

The girl sat down, giving Mark an apologetic look for a moment before she spoke. "You were left out of the dinner conversation. I wanted to apologize for that. I meant no disrespect; it had just been some time since I had…"

She trailed off and frowned when it became obvious that Mark was holding in laughter, his hand clamped over his mouth.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he snorted. "It's just that… well, I understand you wanting to talk to your old friends."

"They were allies of my tribe, hardly friends," Lyn corrected him. "And you are my tactician. I should be talking to you. We must get to know one-another if we are to work alongside each other."

"Technically I am still only a tactician-trainee," Mark said, shrugging and holding his hands palm-up. "By the rules of my family I'm not full-fledged until I serve as a strategist for a time."

"Still," Lyn said, leaning forward and resting her elbows on her knees. "I would converse with you."

"About what?" Mark asked lightly.

Lyn hesitated, her mouth working without sound before her shoulders drooped a little.

"I admittedly did not think that far ahead," she muttered, a slight red tint creeping to her cheeks as Mark began to snicker again.

After a moment Lyn began to chuckle a little as well, leaning back in her chair and relaxing.

"So tell me," Mark asked conversationally as he rested his hands behind his head. "How old are you, anyway?"

"Old enough to slay bandits," Lyn answered evasively. "How old are you?"

"Old enough to have fun, but still young enough to get away with it," he shrugged innocently.

Lyn raised an eyebrow at the tactician, eliciting another soft laugh from him.

"Just turned eighteen," Mark admitted.

"I am… this is my fifteenth summer," Lyn said in the lull that followed Mark's admission.

"See? Not that big an age-gap," Mark said.

"But by the laws of my tribe I am still a child," Lyn spat. "I have had to lie about my age for six months so that I was not adopted by another tribe 'for my own good'."

"It must have been hard," Mark commented.

"Yes, it was," Lyn said softly, looking down.

When she looked back up Mark found himself stunned speechless again by the sheer beauty of her smile.

"But all that has changed now," Lyn said happily. "I'm not alone any more. Because I found you."

* * *

Mark couldn't help but wordlessly grumble the next morning as he and Lyn set out from the inn, a sickeningly chirper Anna seeing them off far louder than necessary.

"Good thing we're not trying to be secretive about this trip," Mark groaned as the red-haired innkeeper wished them a safe journey at the top of her lungs from the door of the inn.

"Yes, Anna is a very lively sort," Lyn laughed.

"So… where are we going?" Mark asked conversationally as they strolled through the town.

Lyn shrugged.

"There are still bandits on the plains at the base of the Bern Mountains. Why don't we start there?"

"As good a place to start as any," Mark sighed. "Let's get some supplies and get a move on."

The pair had barely taken another step before they were forced to stop suddenly when a strange voice rang out, making both travellers turn curiously.

"Oh my heart! What a dazzling vision of loveliness!"

Mark realised he was looking at one of the Knights he'd seen in the distance the previous evening; a young man only a few years his senior with brown hair only marginally neater than his own held away from his face by an old headband. An instinctive sense of dislike crept into Mark's heart, and he found himself narrowing his eyes.

"Wait, oh beauteous one!" the Knight pleaded to Lyn, holding one hand over his heart. "Would you not favour me with your name? Or better yet, your company?"

Mark's brow twitched as he was overcome with the urge to punch the Knight. However, he remained silent and clenching his fists, not wanting to appear to be a violent boor in front of Lyn. His Grandfather's favourite line of _"when in doubt, punch it out"_ circled around his head a few times, but Mark shook the thought away. For the moment, anyway.

"Where are you from, sir Knight, that you speak so freely to a stranger?" Lyn asked, instantly flustered as the Knight approached.

"Ha! I thought you would never ask!" the green-armoured Knight declared, as if Lyn had fallen into his trap, sidling closer to her and utterly ignoring Mark. "I am from the noble land of Lycia! I hail from the Caelin canton, home to men of passion and fire!"

"Shouldn't that be 'home to callow oafs with loose tongues'?" Lyn asked before Mark could speak, crossing her arms and glaring at the Knight.

The tactician snickered at the insult, but unfortunately Lyn's candour seemed to backfire as the Knight actually swooned as his harsh treatment.

"Ooh, you're even lovely when you're cruel!" he sighed.

Lyn clicked her tongue in annoyance, spinning on her heel and looking at her travelling companion.

"Let's go Mark," she declared suddenly. "I've got nothing more to say to this man."

Mark nodded, glaring with one arched brow at the Knight before turning to follow Lyn.

"Wait, please…!" the man said, making to follow them before being pulled backwards.

"Sain, hold your tongue!" a new voice practically shouted.

"Ah, Kent, my boon companion! Why so severe an expression?" the other man, Sain apparently, asked.

Lyn and Mark both hesitated, Mark fervently hoping Sain was about to be hit in some form by the red-armoured Knight with orange hair currently gripping his shoulder. Preferably in a very painful fashion.

"If your manner were more serious I would not have to be severe," Kent growled, bringing his face close to Sain's in a threatening manner before releasing the man. "We still have a mission to complete."

"But to remain silent in the face of such beauty would have been discourteous-" Sain insisted.

"What would you know of courtesy?" Kent asked, cutting the other man off mid-rant.

Kent straightened, approaching Lyn and Mark before bowing apologetically to them both.

"My lady, please accept my humblest apologies for my oafish companion's behaviour," Kent said in a clipped tone, on Mark recognized as speaking of a lifetime of military training.

Lyn looked questioningly to Mark, who shrugged helplessly.

"Very well," she said after a moment. "Thank you. You, at least, seem honourable enough."

Kent straightened, nodding before his eyes widened slightly. His brow furrowed, and he leaned in closer to Lyn, as if inspecting her. Mark felt a muscle in his cheek twitch, but once more held his tongue. From what he'd seen so far Lyn didn't need his help, plus he reasoned that it might be interesting to see such a small woman beat two armoured knights into submission in the middle of a busy street.

"Er… pardon me, milady, but have we perchance met before?" he asked curiously.

"I beg your pardon?" Lyn deadpanned, her expression dropping into a scowl.

Mark resisted the urge to laugh out loud as Sain made a strangled squeaking sound, rushing to Kent's shoulder.

"Hey, no fair, I saw her first!" the green-armoured man objected.

Lyn clicked her tongue again before spinning on her heel and stomping off.

"It appears there are no honourable men in Lycia's Knights after all," she growled to Mark, who struggled to match her pace. "Let us be off, Mark. I have run out of patience."

"Okay, sheesh," the tactician sighed. "Slow down already, I'm the one carrying everything here!"

"Wait, please! It's not like that!" Kent called out from behind them, being utterly ignored by Lyn.

* * *

Mark rolled out his neck under the weight of the heavy bag on his back as he and Lyn walked side by side out of Bulgar. The endless sea of grass ahead of them was broken by the occasional traveller heading either towards the city or away from it. Mark could see a few wagons in the distance, but mountains he couldn't find.

"How far away from the mountains are we, anyway?" he asked curiously.

"Nearly a week by foot," Lyn said distractedly.

Mark sighed and rolled his eyes.

"C'mon, are you still bothered by those Knights?" he asked. "You're not seriously telling me a pretty girl like you has never been hit on before."

"Pretty…?" Lyn repeated, blushing a little as Mark turned back to the city.

"See?" he said, indicating the empty road behind them. "They're not even following us, so cheer up a… little…"

He trailed off, catching sight of the men obviously trying to shadow the duo. Mark took a moment to study them out of the corner of his eye, thinking that they might simply be doing something, anything, else, but even a cursory glance was enough to convince him that they were following the travellers.

"Lyn, start running," Mark said quietly.

"What?" she asked, turning to look back to the city, too.

The men following them realised they'd been found out, foregoing their cover and racing out after the two young travellers. The young tactician cursed himself for not opening with 'don't turn around', but quickly pushed the thoughts of self-reproach from his mind.

"Run!" Mark repeated, shedding his pack and starting to run away from the city as fast as he could.

Lyn followed wordlessly, drawing her sword as she matched Mark's pace. Behind them more of their pursuers appeared out of the ditch beside the road, much closer this time. They were dressed similarly to the bandits they had fought the night they had met, wielding similar weapons and scowling.

"These men are out for blood," Lyn warned, skidding to a stop.

Mark followed her example, spotting the three bandits crawling out of the ditch ahead of them on the road.

"Well, crap," Mark cursed, drawing his rapier.

The bandits closed in as their leader stepped forward, his stubble-coated face twisting into a cruel grin as his eyes fell on Lyn and he let out a short laugh.

"Well, ain't you a pretty one?" the bandit slurred. "You're Lyndis, yeah?"

Lyn started as if struck, her eyes widening. Mark glanced over his shoulder curiously at her reaction. Anna had called her that the previous evening, but the way Lyn reacted just now…

"What did you call me?" she asked, her eyes narrowing dangerously. "Who are you? How do you know that name?"

The bandit just chuckled again, turning as he shook his head in mock sadness.

"Such a waste," the bandit sighed. "An absolute waste. The things I'll do for gold… Right you lot, waste 'em!"

"Don't give up, Mark," Lyn said to the tactician at her back. "We'll think of something…"

"Yeah, 'cut them up and run like mad'," the tactician scoffed.

"I like that plan," Lyn growled, her grip on her old sword tightening expectantly.

The bandits eyed off with the two travellers for a few moments in tense silence, neither side wanting to put themselves at risk by making the first move. Mark was happy to see Lyn fighting smarter this time rather than racing head-first into their enemy, but he could see the tightness of her jaw, the stiffness of her shoulders and stance. It was taking a monumental effort to control herself.

Lyn tensed against Mark's back, obviously about to attack before the sound of muffled hoof-beats reached the tactician's ears.

"Stand away from the lady!" Sain cried, riding onto the road from the lower field and swinging a lance at the bandits in front of Mark.

"Hold!" Kent shouted, appearing after Sain and taking up position in front of Lyn. "Such numbers against travellers!? Cowards, every one of you!"

"You-" Lyn started, staring up at the mounted Knights.

"Later!" Kent said, cutting her off and slashing with a longsword at the closest bandits. "Come! If it is a fight you seek, look no further!"

"Stand back," Sain said to them with a wink. "We'll take care of this."

"Is it so wrong I really don't like him?" Mark ground out as the green knight struck with his lance again.

"No! This is my fight!" Lyn declared, losing her composure and running towards the retreating bandits in front of her. "Stay out of my way!"

"Lyn, what are you- Lyn!?" Mark called after her.

"We have to go after her!" Sain shouted, wheeling his horse around.

The bandits scattered, racing into the field and taking refuge across a small stream. They obviously meant to escape now that the tables had been turned, but Mark needed to know why they were being hunted…

"You two!" he shouted, stalling the Knights. "Ride south and circle around! Pen them in and push them back towards us!"

"Excuse me?" Kent asked, obviously non-pulsed at being ordered around.

"Just do it!" the young tactician growled, taking off after Lyn.

Mark was surprised and further irritated to see just how far ahead of him Lyn had gotten; she was clearly far, far faster than he could ever hope to be, but she was stalled by one of the bandits she had managed to catch up to. With mad, hacking motions completely removed from the elegant swordsmanship he'd seen the previous night Lyn went after the bandit, kicking upwards to break his guard before setting upon the man in a snarling rage.

She was so focused on the bandit screaming beneath her that Lyn completely missed the one sneaking up on her.

"Lyn!" Mark called out in warning, throwing out his empty hand desperately.

He was far too slow to catch the bandit's blade in time, but his shout gave the man a momentary pause. Long enough for Lyn to roll aside and come up in a fighting crouch. Mark closed with the man, bringing his rapier in to stab three times at the bandit's chest, forcing his attention onto the strategist while Lyn ran him through from behind with a savage scream. As she kicked the bandit off her blade Mark rounded on her, high on adrenaline and panting from the run.

"What happened to rule number one!?" Mark shouted. "You promised me, dammit! You gave me your word that-"

"Be silent!" Lyn snapped, her face still contorted with rage. "These men are monsters! I'll kill every last one of them-"

Lyn's rant was abruptly cut off as a loud slap echoed around the plain, Mark lowering his hand as Lyn looked back up with wide, shocked eyes.

"Have you come to your senses yet?" Mark asked in a low tone.

Lyn nodded slowly, her face slacking a little.

"I… I am sorry, Mark," Lyn said quietly, looking down. "I do not-"

"Save it," the young tactician sighed, starting to walk south again. "We'll talk about it later. We need to make the road safe for the other travellers first."

"But know this," he added over his shoulder as Lyn started to follow him. "If you pull a stunt like this again you will find yourself without your tactician. Am I clear? What's the point of having a tactician if you're not going to listen to him in the first place?"

* * *

By the time Mark and Lyn had caught up with the fleeing bandits Kent and Sain had already run most of the group to ground beneath their steeds' hooves, only the enemy leader and two others still putting up a fight as they tried to get away.

Mark had to scoff at the way he automatically classified these men as 'the enemy' in his mind. Reasoning away the killing, making it easier to deal with. It hardly felt like something a hero-tactician would do.

"Accursed knights, always interfering with other's affairs!" the bandit leader growled, swinging his axe back and forth and actually managing to score a light hit on Sain's arm.

Kent growled as Sain momentarily retreated, stabbing another of the bandits with his longsword as Lyn and Mark dashed into the fray, taking the last bandit by surprise and skewering the axe-wielding man with their swords at the same time.

"Give up and we may think about sparing you," Mark told the bandit leader, resting his bloody sword against his shoulder.

"Sod off, kid," the bandit growled, readying his axe. "I ain't about to go down so easy as the rabble."

Lyn surprised Mark by stepping forward, her face cold this time as opposed to the fiery wrath she had been showing before.

"Surrender," she said forcefully, brandishing her weapon at the man. "Enough blood has been spilled this day."

"Shove it up yer-" the bandit started, taking a step forward.

Mark darted in low, bringing his rapier up with the intention of throwing the man off balance. Lyn caught on and spun, her own blade carving a furrow across the bandit leader's leather armour as Sain leapt forward, ramming his lance down into the bandit's back from behind. Kent brought his sword down, the heavy weapon sinking deep into the bandit's shoulder.

"Argh!" the bandit roared, sinking to his knees before looking up at Lyn. "There was only… supposed to be a… lone girl…"

Lyn clicked her tongue before spinning again and beheading the man.

Mark sighed, wiping the blood off his rapier with a scrap of cloth from one of the fallen bandits and watching Lyn out of the corner of his eye. She was standing perfectly still over the body, looking down at it and frowning.

"I'd say that was a little over-kill," Mark commented idly, hoping to break her out of her melancholy.

"Indeed," Lyn commented, shaking her head to clear her thoughts. "That was fantastic work, Mark. You truly are amazing."

"Stop with the flattery," Mark chuckled, sheathing his sword before sobering. "You okay?"

"I will be," Lyn promised him, flashing him a small smile before turning back to the now dismounted knights.

"As for you, Knights of Lycia," she said, her tone serious. "I would have you share your story with me."

"Yes, of course, milady," Kent said with a light bow. "However, may I suggest someplace a little more… private?"

Lyn raised her brow disapprovingly as Mark moved to whisper conspiratorially in her ear.

"We're not that far from Bulgar yet," he suggested quietly. "And I'd bet we can get at least a night's lodging out of these two."

"Anna would appreciate the business," Lyn muttered with a small nod.

"Very well," she said to the knights. "Follow us."

* * *

"We have ventured from Caelin, in Lycia, in search of someone," Kent explained.

Mark quirked one brow, choosing to let the others remain ignorant of his total lack of knowledge in the geography of the land they were in for the time being. He would find a map… eventually. Until then he would, as his teacher was prone to saying, 'fake it'.

The two travellers and two knights were seated around a low table in one of Anna's rooms, Mark perched on the edge of the bed as the others occupied all the chairs. Their return journey had been tense and awkward, both travellers doing their best to maintain a watch on their surroundings for any further ambushes while still keeping the mounted knights at arm's length. Now, the two men were disarmed and had removed their armour in a show of sincerity, sitting in their plain earthen-toned riding clothes, which had convinced Lyn enough to hear them out.

"Lycia is the country beyond the mountains in the south-west, is it not?" Lyn asked curiously.

"Correct," Kent nodded. "We have come as messengers for the Lady Madelyn, who eloped with a Nomad some twenty years ago."

Lyn reeled as if struck, her hand instantly coming to rest over her heart.

"M-Madelyn…" she repeated, her gaze dropping.

"Our Lord the marquess of Caelin's only daughter," Kent confirmed before ploughing on. "He was heartbroken his own daughter would abandon him so. Eventually the marquess simply declared that he had no daughter."

"And then this year we received a letter from Lady Madelyn," Sain piped up, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and an excited set to his features. "It said that she, her husband and their daughter were living happily on the Sacae plains. The marquess was ecstatic to learn he had a granddaughter!"

Lyn quivered a little again, and Mark had to resist the urge to reach out and comfort the girl. He settled for sighing and averting his gaze a little, waiting for the knights to continue.

"I remember the smile on his face when he announced that he'd suddenly become a grandfather," Sain went on, oblivious. "The granddaughter's name is Lyndis. This was also the name of the marquess' wife, who passed away at an early age. We… did not know that Lady Madelyn passed a few days after sending that letter."

"Lyn?" Mark asked cautiously as her gaze snapped back up at the sound of her name from the Knight.

"His… only wish is to meet his daughter's family at least once," Kent added, hesitating at Lyn's distraught face. "Milady, are you well?"

"I am fine," Lyn said, taking a deep breath to compose herself. "Please, continue."

"Very well," Sain said, sitting up straight. "We only learned of the Lady's passing and the destruction of the Lorca tribe after we arrived in Bulgar yesterday."

"But we also learned that the Lady Madelyn's daughter yet lives," Kent said, pointedly staring at Lyn. "A young woman, living alone on the plains…"

"Well, mostly alone," Kent added, shooting a glance at Mark, who shrugged.

"I knew it immediately," the Knight added with conviction. "You are the lady Lyndis."

Lyn flinched before nodding. Mark quirked a questioning brow at her, and she smiled apologetically to him in return.

"How did you know?" she asked quietly, turning back to Kent.

"Your resemblance to your departed mother is uncanny," Kent said, a soft smile rising to his lips.

"Did you know her?" Lyn asked somewhat hopefully.

Kent shook his head sadly.

"I'm sorry to say that I never met her directly. But I saw her portraits in Castle Caelin. Your face is somewhat slimmer, and you must have your father's eyes… But there is no doubt in my mind. You are the Lady Lyndis."

Lyn nodded, her shoulders drooping.

"To the people of my tribe I was always just Lyn," she said in a small voice. "But when I was with my parents… When it was just the three of us, I was Lyndis."

She turned away to look out the window, where twilight had fallen over the commercial city now.

"It's all so strange," she commented. "A few days ago I was all alone in the world. Then I tripped over Mark, and now I even have a Grandfather…"

"Wait, that's how you found me? You accidentally kicked me?" Mark piped up, earning a chuckle from Lyn and Sain.

"Lyndis," Lyn repeated. "I never thought I would hear that name again."

"Wait," Mark said, holding up a forestalling hand as he stroked his chin. "That bandit… he called you Lyndis, too."

"What!?" Kent asked, hands flat on the table between them. "How could he have…"

"He was a henchman of Lord Lundgren, wasn't he?" Sain asked with a tired sigh, running a hand through his hair.

"Who?" Mark and Lyn both asked at the same time.

"He's the marquess' younger brother," Kent explained, looking right at Lyn. "He is your Grand-Uncle."

"And to be blunt, milady," Sain added. "You are an obstacle to his plans to seize power."

Silence settled over the room, broken only when Mark sighed, massaging the skin between his eyes.

"What have I gotten myself into?" he asked no one in particular.

* * *

That evening Mark found himself lying on his bed, staring up at the same ceiling from the previous night. Anna had been just as attentive to their needs as she had been the previous evening, even if she did give the two knights strange looks and a wide berth, much to Sain's apparent displeasure. The quartet spent the evening discussing travel plans, and Mark even got his first look at a local map. They would travel across the plains until they hit the mountains, then go over the mountains, then…

Mark sighed, sitting up and running a hand through his hair.

"Just what did I get myself into here?" he asked the empty room again.

Of course, no answer was forthcoming.

According to the stories his mother told him, his ancestor had been little older than he had been when they had set out on their own journey, but under very different circumstances than his own. Mark gave thanks to whatever local gods there were that he hadn't been sucked into leading an army like they had. But still, he had been planning on something a little… smaller in scale. A few mercenaries perhaps; even his previous agreement with Lyn had been satisfactory. Now they would be travelling hundreds of leagues to confront an evil tyrant and gods-above only knew what else. It was more than Mark had been prepared for, if he were honest.

A light knock at his door echoed through the small room before it opened, Lyn peeking through the crack.

"Mark, are you awake?" she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.

"Yeah," he sighed, spinning to face her and indicating she take a seat.

"I… heard you talking," she said, somewhat timidly.

"I talk to myself a lot," Mark shrugged. "They say that smart people apparently do that. Well, my mom said that, so I don't know how trustworthy a source that is…"

Lyn chuckled a little as she perched on the edge of her chair, fiddling with her hands and squirming a little as she looked at the floor between their feet. She was tense; Mark could tell something was bothering her, but he had no idea where to start. After everything that had happened to her in the last few months, of course she would have problems, but her level of problems seemed to be far above what he was prepared to deal with, and rising still given everything that happened that day.

"Mark, you do not have to come with us," Lyn said in a small voice, as if reading the young tactician's entire earlier thought process. "I… would understand if you did not."

Mark looked at her as she bowed her head low, scrunching herself up as if waiting for him to reject her. In that moment Lyn looked so fragile that a soft breeze would shatter her into a thousand pieces, and Mark found himself unable to abandon her.

"Er… aw what the hell," Mark sighed. "I'm still in. You'll get yourselves killed without a decent strategist around, so I'm in. Besides, this is the kind of thing I was looking for; a chance to put my profession to use. This is a little above the level of what I was chasing, but no one said being a tactician is a safe job."

Lyn's face snapped up, her shining eyes settling on Mark's grinning face.

"Truly?" she asked hopefully.

"Yeah," Mark said with a grin. "I promised to be your tactician. I hold promises in high regard, so I'm in."

Lyn looked down again, letting out a small sniffle.

"Thank you, Mark," she said in a cracking voice. "You have no idea… what that means to me."

"After what I've heard it sounds like you could use all the friends you can get," Mark said softly, reaching out and resting a hand on Lyn's shoulder. "But you should get some rest. We've got a long journey ahead of us tomorrow."

Lyn nodded, wiping her face with the back of her hand before standing.

"I know," she said, smiling down at the tactician. "And… thank you again, Mark. I cannot say that enough."

The young tactician grinned a little as Lyn offered him a small wave while she returned to her own room, letting out a breath once she was finally gone and throwing himself backwards onto the bed.

"Guess I'm in for the long-haul now," he muttered to himself, staring up at the ceiling again. "Could be worse. I'm not leading an army, at least."

* * *

 **AN: I'll say it right now; this is an old game. There are a lot of amazing versions of this story out there already. A LOT. I'm doing this for me, because I can and because I want to. I'm doing this in my established style, with characters I grew up with and the game and stunningly beautiful story that introduced me to this series. This game meant a lot to me, and I want to share the awe and joy that it gave me with others. As with my previous story I will be splitting it up into at least three separate arcs for ease of my own digital housekeeping (plus calling them 'Arcs' makes me feel all fancy and stuff); there will be a Lyn arc (A Daughter of Caelin), an Eliwood arc (A Knight of the Realm) and a Hector arc (A Lord of Lycia). And if we go into extra innings, a Mark arc, too (which I really hope we do, because** _ **Blood of Heroes**_ **sounds so cool in my head). Or course, aside from Lyn's arc these are all WIP names. However I really have no idea how long it will be. I really don't. Let's just say 'exceedingly' and leave it at that.**

 **Follow me on Twitter for updates! - metalloverCAB**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Mark let out a loud yawn as he tromped along beside Lyn, the two knights from Lycia flanking them as the group wandered down the road leading out of Bulgar. It was still early in the morning, and Mark would always be first to admit that he really wasn't a morning person.

Lyn, on the other hand, was annoyingly chirper, despite the early hour. The Knights, too, were fully awake and chattering along. It was only the tactician-strategist that was grumpy.

"How are you people so… so…" Mark groaned, trailing off into another great yawn.

"Awake?" Sain laughed, grinning from atop his horse.

"I dislike you," Mark deadpanned, glaring at the handsome knight.

"We knights keep to a rigid schedule," Kent supplied. "We must rise before dawn to feed and groom our mounts every day without fail."

"And I am used to rising with the sun out on the plains," Lyn added with a smile.

Try as he might, Mark just couldn't stay mad in the face of that innocent smile. With a sigh he sagged, muttering to himself about how soft he was. The quartet was travelling down the same road that Lyn and Mark had attempted to the previous day, which according to Lyn led to an ancient Sacaen temple where travellers went to pray for a safe journey. It had been Lyn who had suggested the side-trip, and Mark had simply deferred to her on this. He was, after all, her strategist. Kent had been a little less than enthusiastic, but the shrine wasn't even a day away from Bulgar; they could be well underway with their journey after a quick stop. Sain… Mark would freely admit that when Sain started talking, he stopped listening.

"Out of curiosity, how exactly do you pray?" Mark asked suddenly.

Lyn hesitated a moment, her face blank as she looked at the strategist. "I… do not understand your question."

"Well, back home we had sprawling cathedrals where faithful would go to pray to our deities, which consisted of a lot of scraping and bowing and muttering. So I'm curious. How's it work in Sacae?"

"What you describe sounds similar to the Light Worship in Lycia," Kent explained. "Where we pray to the blessed Light for safety and deliverance. I will admit, though, that I do not know how Sacaeans pray, either."

Lyn fidgeted a little, clearly put on the spot. She cleared her throat nervously before beginning to talk, Sain and Mark both smirking a little at the display.

"Sacaeans pray to the Mother Earth and Father Sky. Although 'pray' as Lycians understand it may be the wrong word. We offer rites and sacrifices to our Mother and Father to appease them, and to ask for a good hunt or for a dry rainy season. The shrine we are travelling to is home to a sacred blade named the Mani Katti. It is said to be a path for the Earth Mother's power. We touch the blade and ask for her to watch over us as we travel."

"Fascinating," Mark muttered. "Although it's not all that surprising that a race as undeveloped as the Sacaeans practice polytheistic nature worship. Are there other shrines that… why, uh, are you glaring at me like that?"

"Sacaeans are not 'undeveloped'," Lyn fumed. "We have a rich culture that stretches back to the time of The Scouring! Just because we don't live in stone castles like the other nations do doesn't mean we are savages!"

"Peace, Lady Lyndis," Kent soothed. "I'm sure he meant no harm by his comments. Right Mark?"

The strategist nodded quickly, torn between being taken aback by Lyn's rant and being grateful to Kent for saving him from his thoughtless social _faux pas_. He was also sure Sain was quietly laughing at him to the side, but chose to ignore that part.

"Lyn, I'm sorry, I meant no disrespect," Mark said quickly. "I chose my words poorly. I'm sorry. I am really interested in Sacaen culture and traditions, though. I was serious when I said they were fascinating to me."

"Smooth," Sain grinned, earning a withering glare from Mark and Kent both.

The girl huffed, crossing her arms as they walked in silence for a time. After a few minutes of this she cast a weak glare at Mark from the corner of her eye before looking back to the horizon.

"I should apologize, too," she muttered. "Sacaeans face much prejudice from our neighbours in Bern and Lycia. Savages, they call us. Uncivilized. It is… a sore spot."

"Well, from what I can see of the Lycian culture they're not much more civilized, anyway," Mark scoffed, pointedly eying Sain.

"I take offense at that!" the knight declared. "Lycia is home to men of passion and fire, a true haven to those who-"

"So Lyn, are there more shrines like the one we're going to?" Mark asked over top of Sain's speech, the green-armoured knight not even noticing.

"There is one other, where we go to mourn our dead and ask Father Sky to accept their spirit's into his embrace," Lyn explained in a small voice, looking away to the horizon again. "I… was there six months ago. I would prefer not to return."

"No problem, I was just curious," Mark said, nudging her shoulder with his. "Is there a fancy sword there, too?"

Lyn smiled up at him for a moment before shaking her head. "No, the second shrine houses the Bow of Gales, Mulagir."

"Makes sense," Mark nodded. "Sky, wind, bow. Gales. A sword is made of iron, which comes from the earth. I can see the connection, there, too. Hold on, let me make a note of this before I forget…"

Lyn giggled a little as Mark did an awkward little dance, trying to continue walking while still pulling his notebook and a piece of charcoal out of his pouch.

"Will you not trip if you try to write and walk?" Lyn asked with a grin.

"Nah, had lots of practice," Mark mumbled, already scratching away notes. "Remind me when we make camp to properly ink these notes, otherwise they'll smudge."

"What do you have in that book, anyway?" Sain asked, leaning over the neck of his horse to peer at the pages Mark was writing on. "Is this where you write your love poetry?"

"Why in… why would I write love poetry!?" Mark asked irritably as he wrote, not even looking up.

"Sain, enough," Kent said, his voice perfectly even. "We are meant to be on guard, remember?"

"Would it kill you to relax a little, old friend?" Sain sighed, leaning back in his saddle. "This is why you cannot find a woman to-"

"Sain!" Kent barked, his voice much sharper than before.

"Alright, alright," the green knight shrugged. "I'll 'be on guard'. No need to shout."

Mark clapped his book closed, looking up at Kent with a sincere expression. "Thank you."

* * *

They came upon a small village just after lunch, Lyn pointing to the first stone building Mark had seen outside Bulgar since he'd arrived in Sacae and explaining that it was the shrine they were heading to. The 'village' seemed to Mark to be little more than a glorified camp-ground, numerous smaller Sacaean caravans having converged on the flat area near the shrine. Various tents of differing design and colour were set up, horses tied up near wagons. There were no permanent buildings besides the shrine, just tents and carts set up around the various fire pits on the flat section of plain. It didn't look anything like the kind of village that Mark was used to, but after his blunder earlier that day he decided to not give voice to his opinion. According to Lyn the Sacaeans considered this area a village because there was almost always someone camped here, preparing for their journeys after having received their blessing from the Mani Katti blade. Merchant convoys were commonplace, too, and it appeared to Mark that once the sun went down quite the lively festive atmosphere would envelop the grounds.

As they drew closer, though, Lyn's brows furrowed. "Something's wrong."

"Indeed! That none of the beauteous Sacaean maidens have come out to meet us breaks my heart!" Sain professed.

"No, I mean something is actually wrong," Lyn repeated, glaring at the knight.

"Is he never not on?" Mark asked, glancing up at Kent.

The second knight ignored the strategist, though, urging his mount forward alongside Lyn to inspect the camp. "Where are all the people?"

Studying the village now himself, Mark realised that Kent was right. Cooking fires still burned, and the horses all looked to still be in good, well-cared for condition. The village hadn't been abandoned for long.

"The men should be out hunting," Lyn explained, her pace quickening. "But there should still be people here. Women and children and…"

"Lyn, don't get ahead of yourself," Mark cautioned, hitching his pack higher up onto his back. "We don't know what happened here. There's an explanation, so remain calm."

"I know," she nodded, eyes not leaving the village.

Coming closer to the caravan village Mark could see that there were still signs of life. Footprints churned up in the dirt between tents, and smoke still rising from the fire pits. He could even smell the leftovers from breakfast, something that made him realise how hungry he was; they had only had a quick lunch on the road of hard rye bread and a few nuts.

"Hello!?" Lyn called out, cupping her hands around her mouth. "I am Lyn, of the Lorca! Is anyone here!?"

The quartet froze as the camp suddenly burst back to life, a small horde of Sacaean women charging from the tents with weapons in hand. Various shades of blue and red flashed on their clothes, similar in design to Lyn's. All, without exception, had long hair past their shoulders, although many of the older women had braids and beads in their hair, for what reason Mark couldn't tell. And, again without exception, they all carried swords or wicked looking curved daggers, quickly surrounding the quartet with the weapons. Mark instinctively took a step back, and the two Lycians' mounts reared up at the sudden movement, but Lyn stood impassively with her hands out by her sides as the women approached them.

"Peace!" Lyn said calmly. "What has happened here?"

One of the women, clearly approaching middle-age if the silver streaks in her black hair was anything to go by, stepped forward and eyed the travellers warily. She wore a scarlet dress similar to Lyn's, but the bottom only reached her thighs and she wore a pair of hide pants beneath. Her hair clacked with beads as she moved, slowly studying the four newcomers. With a small nod, seemingly satisfied, she lowered her weapon, and the rest followed suit.

"You say you are of the Lorca? I didn't know any of them yet lived," she said plainly.

Mark expected Lyn to flinch back from the harsh words, but she stepped forward to face the older woman instead.

"I am Lyn, daughter of Chieftain Hassar of the Lorca. I am the last of my tribe."

The older woman nodded again before speaking. "I am Isal, wife of Chieftain Sudasu of the Uciar tribe. I am sorry for the loss of your tribe."

"Thank you," Lyn said, nodding graciously. "But tell me what has happened to make you all so suspicious of fellow travellers?"

Isal cast a wary glance at Mark and the two knights. "Will they not dismount?"

"All due respect, but we will remain mounted, milady, at least until the weapons are put away," Kent said.

"Kent, Sain, please," Lyn said over her shoulder. "It is customary to dismount when greeting others in their camp. It shows respect."

"Very well," Sain said with a roguish grin. "If you so decree, Lady Lyn, than I shall obey."

Kent frowned, but remained silent as he and Sain slipped from their saddles. Both knights drew closer, leading their mounts by the reins and still holding their weapons in hand. Sain flashed a winning smile at the crowd of women, seemingly being ignored.

Isal let out a long sigh before she sheathed her sword. "That is enough. They clearly mean no harm to us," she said before turning to Lyn. "I apologize on behalf of the Uciar for our disrespect, little sister, but we have had an eventful morning. You and your companions are welcome among us."

"Tell me, what has happened?" Lyn asked again.

The older nomad nodded, indicating that they follow her.

"We were attacked," Isal explained as she led the quartet through the village of tents. "Bandits or mercenaries, we do not know. But they waited until the men had left to hunt, then descended on the shrine. Some of us were wounded when they took the shrine, so we returned to the village."

"I'm beginning to notice a pattern with you," Mark deadpanned behind Lyn.

Isal smirked a little as Lyn faltered, unsure how to respond to the strategist's statement, but before she could the older woman stopped out front of a tent and held the flap aside. Isal ushered Lyn and Mark inside, Kent and Sain opting to remain outside with their mounts. However, Mark could tell that Kent, at the least, would be on guard in case of another attack. From the nomads or the bandits, it didn't seem to matter to the Lycian. Sain was clearly too busy grinning his roguish grin at any woman that would make eye-contact with him.

The inside of Isal's tent was much the same as Lyn's was set up in the evenings. No decoration to speak of, but what was present was brightly coloured with woven cloth in shades of red offset by black. Before Mark could properly study the tent a flash of movement interrupted him, his hand dropping to the hilt of his rapier automatically. Blinking, Mark realised a small child had just run up to hide behind Isal.

"Come, Ilit, we have guests," Isal said kindly to the child before looking up. "My daughter. She is still young."

Mark let a breath out his nose, relaxing and letting his hand fall from the hilt of his sword. He managed to catch a glimpse of sea-green eyes beneath a mop of dark-green-almost-black hair before the girl hid behind her mother's legs again. Lyn laughed as the girl hid from Mark, who huffed and crossed his arms. The younger nomad stepped forward, crouching down before Isal and smiling as she leaned a little around her.

"Hello, Ilit," Lyn said. "I'm Lyn, and my friend is Mark. It's nice to meet you."

The little girl leaned out again, earning a radiant smile from Lyn that even made Mark grin a little.

"Hello," Ilit said hesitantly.

"Did the men from before scare you, Ilit?" Lyn asked.

"Ooh, I already know where this is going…" Mark sighed, pinching the skin between his eyes as he felt a headache coming on.

Isal gave the strategist a curious glance while Ilit nodded. Lyn's smile dropped a little as she stood, her hand resting on the hilt of her own sword now.

"You have nothing to fear," Lyn promised. "My peerless strategist and I will slay the bandits."

"Please tell me we're at least taking the other two," Mark groaned.

"You cannot!" Isal cried. "There were at least ten of them! With only the four of you-"

"Three. I'm not really much of a fighter," Mark interjected.

"We will be fine, Isal," Lyn promised.

"You are set on this?" Isal persisted, her brow furrowing.

"I am," Lyn nodded.

"Don't bother, there's no changing her mind when it's made up," Mark sighed. "Is there someplace we can leave our packs? It would be nice to do this unencumbered…"

Isal stared at the pair for a moment, Ilit behind her looking back and forth between the adults curiously before her mother sighed.

"We cannot aid you," the older nomad said regretfully. "If you are to fail, you may anger the bandits. We will need everyone here to protect ourselves."

"We will not fail," Lyn declared.

"Ah to be young," Isal chuckled. "Very well. You may leave your packs here. Be safe, and return alive. We will sing and dance to your victory tonight."

Mark let out a relieved sigh, dropping his heavy pack and rotating his shoulders, much to Ilit's amusement. Lyn merely nodded her thanks, sweeping out of the tent without a backwards glance to relay her decision to the two knights. Before Mark could follow, though, Isal stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

"There is a wall that was under repair on the western face of the temple," Isal told him. "You may be able to use that to get inside."

It took Mark a moment before Isal's words registered, and his face broke out in a predatory grin. "I like the sound of that."

* * *

Lyn and Mark watched as Kent and Sain rode off towards the front of the shrine in a plume of dust, off to play distraction while they struck from the back.

Kent had vehemently opposed Lyn's plan to aid the other nomads, citing their lack of numbers and pressing need to begin their journey to Caelin, but she had been resolute. Sain, however, had seemed overjoyed at the prospect of rescuing an entire village full of women. It wasn't until Mark had announced his two-pronged attack plan that Kent had relented, seeing that he was out-voted.

"Very well, Lady Lyndis, but please remember that the people of Caelin, too, are depending on your safe return. Do not take any undue risks," he had said.

"Hey, c'mon, she'll have me there with her," Mark had said with a shrug.

"Just be careful," Kent had repeated before he'd swung up into his saddle.

Now the two knights were charging at the shrine's entrance, leaving Mark and Lyn to find the broken section of wall Isal had spoken of. Lyn had set off towards the shrine at a trot, the focus in her gaze unshakable as Mark followed after her.

"Well, this should be fun," he grumbled.

"You could have stayed at the camp," Lyn pointed out.

"Nah. You lot would get killed without me," he said, forcing a grin.

Lyn smiled appreciatively before turning back to the task at hand, leaving Mark's face to drop into a frown. As far as he was concerned Kent had been right on every count. They were vastly outnumbered, and while Lyn was skilled she had little experience and an almost non-existent fuse on her temper. The two knights were also an unknown, and he'd just had to trust that their training had been adequate enough that he hadn't just sent them to their deaths.

Up close Mark realized that the shrine itself was nothing special. Clearly it had been maintained well over the years, but judging from the build-up of moss and plant matter on the outer stone walls it was an old, old building. At least a few hundred. Rough sandstone blocks had been used to create the edifice, mined from where Mark couldn't say. He didn't know enough about the geography of the area to even make a guess, he realized. High, shuttered windows were spaced at regular intervals, closed now no doubt by the bandits that had taken the shrine. They were too high up to be of any use as potential entrances, anyway. Leaving, of course, the damaged wall that Isal had spoken of as their only option.

Mark and Lyn both slowed, looking back over their shoulders as the sounds of fighting began to ring out from the front of the shrine.

"Come, Mark, we must make haste!" Lyn said before doubling her pace.

With a sigh the strategist shook his head. "It's pointless to tire yourself out before we even get there."

On the western face of the building, just as Isal had said, they found a section of wall that was clearly undergoing repairs. The section, nearly twice as tall as Mark was, had begun to deteriorate due to vines growing through the mortar that held the blocks together. The monks in the shrine had set up scaffolding around the section of crumbling wall, being held up by logs propped against it as they replaced the damaged sections. A pile of new blocks was sitting to one side, and there was numerous tools spread about.

"So how do we do this?" Lyn asked, looking up at the scaffolding.

Mark just grinned, strutting over to a large hammer lying against the pile of new blocks. Hefting the heavy tool in both hands he turned his grin on Lyn before saying "Oh, I think I have a good idea how..."

* * *

Kent urged his mount faster, snapping the reins in his off-hand while he held his sword up with his right. Beside him Sain was laughing, the green-armoured man seemingly taking Mark's plans a little too seriously for Kent's liking.

 _Get their attention. Hit and run. Be loud. Be annoying. Draw them out of the shrine, away from the monks, and wait for us to strike from the rear._

The mere thought of knights of Lycia playing at being a distraction admittedly rankled Kent more than he'd like to admit, but Lady Lyn had given her orders. He had little choice but to obey.

A smirk rose to his face unbidden at that thought. Him, branded a traitor by Lundgren and his ilk for following his Marquess' orders, worrying about loyalty. It was almost enough to draw a laugh from him.

"Come on, Kent, you'll fall behind!" Sain shouted over the wind roaring in their ears.

The red-haired knight had to laugh at that; it was usually him admonishing Sain to let him strike first so that Sain could use the farther reach of his lance to greater effect. Urging his mount forward again Kent managed to pass the other man just as they came upon the entrance to the shrine, taking the two bandits stationed there on guard totally unawares. Kent's blade bit deep, practically slicing one man's arm off at the shoulder thanks to his momentum, while Sain executed a perfect lunge and dropped the other man. In the blink of an eye it was over and the two knights were past the entrance, but the damage had been done. More men were beginning to emerge now as Kent directed his mount to come around in a wide arc.

Sain was laughing again now, his grin almost manic as he followed so close to Kent their horses were nearly touching. Kent could only reflect that he wished Mark could see them now, in their element; Knights of Lycia running down their foes with speed, strength and skill unrivalled by even the Kingdom of Bern's riders or the northern land of Ilia's pegasus riders. Before the bandits could form a defensive perimeter the two knights passed through them again, two more bodies dropping in a cloud of dust and blood as the men's chargers forced their way through.

"This is too easy!" Sain laughed.

Kent resisted the urge to sigh as he gave the other knight a quick glare; he wasn't an overly superstitious man, but one thing that their old teacher, Knight Commander Eagler, had drilled into them was 'don't tempt fate'. And, as if on cue, Sain's horse began to lag behind Kent's, a noticeable gap widening between them. Biting back a curse Kent wheeled his mount around, coming to a dead stop as Sain caught up.

"Your mount is injured," he pointed out. "Use the last of your vulenary on it, I'll distract the bandits."

"But this vulenary was a gift from Lady Lyndis-"

"Just do it!" Kent barked, urging his mount back into motion.

He felt a little bad about being so hard on Sain; the man was an excellent knight and warrior, but he let the strangest things slow him down.

Kent only distantly heard Sain's cursing as the other man descended from his saddle to treat his mount's injury. The wind was whipping in his ears again, the steady beat of his own mount's hooves on the grassy earth combining with it to drown out all else in the world. His hand tightened on his sword's hilt. He counted at least six men now, waiting for him to charge back into them. This time they were ready, though, and he didn't have the advantage of Sain's reach at his back.

Too bad for the bandits they were still outmatched, Kent thought.

Now if only Mark could see what he was about to do, a Knight of Lycia. Perhaps the strategist's opinion of knights would improve a little beyond 'distractions'.

* * *

"Mark, this is taking too long!" Lyn repeated for the third time.

"Look, either grab a hammer and help or shut up! These monks are better stonemasons than I thought!"

Mark grunted, smashing the hammer into the wall again. Fortunately the sound was being drowned out by the fighting at the main entrance, but the wall itself was far more solid than Isal had led them to believe. He'd been wailing on it with the large sledgehammer for a good few minutes now, and while the top had indeed come loose the repaired sections at the bottom were far from crumbling to create the hole they needed.

Lyn hissed out some Sacaean oath, her knuckles white on her sword as she paced.

"I was… serious you know!" Mark huffed, pausing to strike the wall again. "You could always… help me out a little!"

"You are taking up too much space!"

"If we rotated as we hit… there would be plenty… of space!"

"Stop wasting your energy on talking and break the wall!"

"I am… a strategist! Not a… stonemason!"

"This was your plan!"

"It was a bad plan!"

With a frustrated growl Mark tossed the hammer aside, resting his hands on his knees as he gasped and struggled for breath. "I should've paid more attention to the… damned fitness classes…"

"What are you doing?" Lyn asked. "We need to get in-"

"Up the scaffolding, go over the top," Mark panted.

"What? But that would leave us…" Lyn said, cocking her head slightly.

"Trapped, yes," Mark sighed, straightening. "Unless, of course, we go through the bandits. Which was the plan anyway. Want me to go first so you have something soft to land on?"

"I… you are sure about this?" Lyn asked.

"Sure, why not?" Mark shrugged, taking another few deep breaths.

"Very well," Lyn grinned. "I will lead. You watch the rear."

"Oh your rear is so watched- you know what, that sounded better in my head. Forget I said that."

Lyn, laughing so hard that tears began to form in her eyes, bolted up the scaffolding beside the wall with the sure movements of a gymnast. Mark watched her in awe before sighing and shaking his head, muttering to himself as he began to follow at a much slower pace. Hand over hand he climbed until he reached the gap where the damaged stones had fallen away at his blows, where Lyn was waiting for him, still grinning.

"How was my rear?" she asked playfully.

"I hate you right now," Mark grumbled, poking his head into the shrine.

Ignoring Lyn's soft laughter he scanned the interior. A small pulpit in one corner with three men standing near it; more bandits, none of them looking much older than he was. Towards the back, huddled in the corner were three more men in robes, who Mark assumed were the monks. The shrine itself was a simple affair; rough stone floors, worn smooth by generations of feet passing over it, the pulpit itself covered in a threadbare rug. Regularly spaced columns would provide cover if they needed it, something that the bandits didn't seem to be inclined to make use of. A sheathed sword sat on the pulpit, one of the bandits constantly looking back and forth between the entrance and the sword. Towards the entrance…

"Where the hell is Sain?" Mark hissed.

Kent was fighting alone at the entrance, the knight holding his own against at least five other opponents. Lyn leaned forward, too, resting her hand on Mark's shoulder to balance herself.

"Perhaps he was wounded?" she suggested.

"It doesn't matter, we're out of time," Mark said. "Use the columns as cover and follow me."

With that, he slipped forward and dropped into the shrine. He landed heavily and rolled onto his shoulder, coming up in a crouch behind the nearest column, the way he'd been taught. As he unsheathed his rapier Lyn landed behind him in a crouch, her catlike movements going totally unseen by the bandits. Mark could hear them, now, in a state of near panic.

"Glass, whadda we do?"

"Shut it! It's just one knight!"

"There were two of 'em!"

"So where's the other!?"

"They must'a got him already!"

"They killed Ames! And Naz, too!"

"I said shut it, Saul! Soon as we get the sword-"

"Glass, wake up! The sword rejected you! There're knights outside! We gotta scram!"

"Not without the sword! I'm the greatest swordsman in all of Sacae! I will have this blade!"

Mark grinned a little to himself as he listened to the men arguing. Of course it had to be a bunch of prideful idiots that had taken the shrine. Feeling a new sense of confidence the strategist stepped out of the shadow of the column he was behind, his rapier hanging limp in his hand. "You know, if you really were the best swordsman in Sacae one would assume you wouldn't need the fancy sword."

All three of the bandits spun, eyes wide as the beheld the lone stranger leaning casually against the column.

"Now, my friend here? She's about to take you to school. Pay attention," Mark added, his grin only growing.

With a wrathful shout, right on cue, Lyn sprung from behind her own column. Her old sword flashed, one of the bandits falling beneath her onslaught before he could even bring his weapon up.

"Have fun, Lyn!" Mark called, bouncing off the column with a lazy wave of his hand. "I'm gonna go help the Knights!"

"Seriously!?" Glass, the bandit's leader, snarled. "You make that big entrance then you leave the girl-"

Whatever else he was going to say was lost when he leapt back, Lyn's blade missing him by a hair's breadth as she snarled wordlessly at the two men.

"Cowards!" she roared. "You dare invade this sacred place!? I offer your blood as tribute to the Earth Mother!"

"Pah, ancient superstitious nonsense!" Glass snapped back, raising his own sword. "I ain't afraid of you or the Earth Mother! C'mon!"

He was taking a chance here, letting Lyn fight the two remaining men on her own. But Lyn was a ferocious fighter, if a little unfocused. Mark sincerely doubted she'd have much trouble with them. Kent, on the other hand, he could already tell was tiring in the entrance. Sain was still nowhere to be seen, meaning that his plans had to be adapted.

Flourishing his rapier and breaking into a jog Mark did some quick assessments in his head. Five bandits were still crowding Kent. Three of which were currently in his face. Two had fallen back, both sporting wounds. It left a bad taste in his mouth, but Mark slowed as he approached to better mask his footsteps. With an impassive face the strategist studied the back of the closest bandit, the dirty man still glaring at Kent and clutching his wounded arm. With a nod Mark found the right spot, sliding his rapier through the bandit's cheap armour and into his heart. Dead before he hit the floor, the bandit's death still caught the attention of his friend. The second wounded one, bleeding profusely from a cut to his scalp, brought up an axe when he spotted Mark. The strategist sidestepped into the bandit's blind-spot, where he was blinded by the blood running down his face, and with another perfect lunge he felled the second man.

His teacher would have been proud of his form. The killing wounded men, while a necessity, wasn't something that he felt like taking pride in, though.

A sour look came onto Mark's face as he turned back to Kent. In the distance he could see Sain finally approaching on foot and his horse following behind with a limp, which explained where the other knight had been. Kent, panting heavily now, still swung his sword with what could only be described as 'parade-ground precision', but it was obvious he was tiring. Stepping forward into the melee, Mark decided to do something before there was more wounded on his side.

Between the three of them, the remaining bandits didn't stand a chance. He only hoped Lyn was doing as well as they were.

* * *

With a wordless roar Lyn stalked forward, knocking aside the axe-wielding man's blows and lashing out with a vicious kick at his midsection before dancing back again, the blade-wielding bandit moving in to defend his winded comrade. Lyn spun in response, her hair and clothes flicking out as she put more distance between them, bringing her battered old sword back up.

This wasn't the first time she'd fought two enemies at once. Her father had been diligent in his training, and more often than not had employed the assistance of the other men of the village to make her training more 'realistic'. The axe-wielding bandit was no issue. He was slow, unwieldly, untrained. But the other man, who had been named as Glass by the others… he was skilled. When Lyn went to strike at his partner, Glass would be there to deflect the blow. When Lyn had to make space, Glass was there pushing her further back. Already he'd foiled perfect killing blows on the weaker man twice now, and pushed Lyn back towards the columns three times.

He was good. The thought made Lyn grin.

"Find something funny, girl?" Glass spat. "Not so good now that I see you coming, are ya?"

"You never see death coming until it's too late," Lyn said, her eyes never leaving Glass'.

"Too true, little bird, too true," Glass chuckled. "What tribe are you from? Tell me so I know where to send your ashes."

"Glass, man, we don't have time for-" the other bandit started.

"Shut it! She's worth it!" he snapped, rounding on the other man before turning back to Lyn with a smile. "I'm Glass, formerly of the Kutolah, now a free man. Why don't you come with me? Together with our skills we could be the king and queen of this wretched country!"

Lyn spat, her grin becoming a scowl. "You face Lyn of the Lorca. And I'd rather marry a horse."

Glass snorted with laughter, shaking his head. "It's always the pretty ones that don't have a clue."

"Be silent!" Lyn snapped. "Are we going to talk or fight!?"

"By all means, then, Lyn of the Lorca!" Glass shouted, bringing his sword up. "Saul, go help the others! This one's mine!"

"But-"

"You're in the damn way! Get lost!"

The axe-wielding man, Saul, looked back and forth between Lyn and Glass for a moment before lowering his head and running off towards the entrance, leaving the two swordsmen to face each other without distractions.

Neither spoke, simply eying their opponent and waiting for an opening. Lyn knew that this moment was crucial; to act hastily now would spell her defeat, but to wait too long and miss her chance was also a possibility. Like her father had taught her, she needed to wait for just the right moment, watch his eyes, look for the tells…

Glass was doing the same. His brown-eyed gaze never shifted from hers, both of them still as statues as they waited for some unseen signal.

All at once both swordsmen burst into motion, charging towards each other. Their blades clashed two, three, four times in the blink of an eye, the sound almost one long clang their blows were so close together. And yet, through the storm of steel and violence, both combatants looked oddly at peace.

Lyn wheeled around, striking high. Glass ducked low, kicking out at her legs. Lyn leapt, summersaulting over him and striking at his shoulder. Glass shifted to the side at the last minute, his tunic opening where it had been cut. They danced away from each other for a moment before coming back together, their blades locked now as Glass tried to use his superior size against his smaller opponent. Lyn grit her teeth and dug in her heels, refusing to give any more ground.

"You're good," Glass commented through clenched teeth. "I think I'm in love! But… I don't think that old piece of crap… can handle much more, eh?"

Lyn risked taking her eyes off her opponent for the briefest of moments to study her sword. The old weapon her father had given her to train with had been in rough shape when she'd gotten it, but Lyn had made it last with proper care and maintenance. However it now appeared that the weapon was on its last legs, many more new chips and cracks in the blade now.

 _Please, just a little longer, old friend,_ she begged, her eyes returning to Glass'.

"I'd be more worried… about yourself!" Lyn snarled, ducking low and letting Glass' pressure carry him past her.

They both spun, clashed again, and this time Lyn's sword wasn't up to the task. The blade snapped, and Glass' sword bit deep into her shoulder.

The victorious laugh died on Glass' lips, though, as the broken half of the sword still in Lyn's hand came up beneath his guard. With a pained shout Lyn rammed the broken sword into Glass' undefended throat, the bandit choking as blood began to pour down his chest.

With the last of her strength Lyn shoved the man back, both of their weapons coming free as the two combatants fell. Glass landed heavily on his back and lay still in a widening pool of blood, his empty eyes staring up at the shrine's roof as his last breath left him.

"Father… Father s-sky… take you…" Lyn mumbled, falling to one knee.

Her arm hung limply at her side, and her vision was already beginning to blur from the blood-loss. She glanced up, first at Glass' body, then at the Mani Katti sitting on the pulpit at the back of the shrine.

Voices indistinct against the rushing sound of her blood in her ears said something, but Lyn couldn't make it out. Instead she felt a familiar stinging sensation as someone poured a medical vulenary on her injured shoulder, the flesh knitting itself back together with the help of the magical liquid.

"-be more careful, Lyn. These things aren't cheap."

"Mark?" Lyn muttered, looking up over her shoulder.

The strategist grinned down at her, already tucking the empty vial into his pocket.

"Nice work. How're you feeling?" he asked, offering her his hand.

"I want to take a bath," she said truthfully before she could stop herself.

"And some laundry too, I'd wager," Mark laughed, pointedly looking down at her blood-soaked clothes. "He got you good at the end there."

"He was a worthy opponent," Lyn agreed with a nod.

She glanced down at the half of her old sword still clenched in her hand and had to resist the urge to sigh. She had had the weapon for years, but it had given its last to defend not only her but the innocent monks as well. It was a fitting end for the blade, but she would miss it.

"Ah! My Lady Lyn, my heart! Are you well? Has your wound- Kent, stop pulling!"

Lyn glanced up to see the two knights approaching, their mounts tied up outside already. Kent was holding an over-excited Sain back with one hand on his scruff, the other man clearly struggling to get to Lyn's side. Mark sighed and shook his head, and it was then that Lyn realised she was still holding his hand.

"Apologies," she said, releasing him and looking away.

Mark just quirked his head, but remained silent as the two knights joined them.

"Are you both okay?" Lyn asked.

"Oh, my darling Lady, my heart, your worry for my welfare-" Sain started before Kent cut him off.

"Minor injuries, nothing a few vullenaries and a good night's rest won't fix," the red-haired knight spoke over Sain.

"Good, I'm glad," Lyn said with a tired smile.

"Anyone else injured?" Mark called over to the monks, now beginning to pick themselves up as they realized they had been rescued.

A particularly wizened looking man stepped towards them, two younger monks looking around at the carnage in a shell-shocked fashion. The older man had a great white beard and long, thin white hair he tied away from his face, and although he wore the same simple brown robes as the other two he exuded an aura of age and wisdom. His beard, however, could not hide the purple bruising to the left side of his face, nor the split in his lower lip. Clearly Glass had taken his frustration out on the monks.

"Thank you, travellers," the old monk said. "I never thought I would live to see the day Lycian knights were forced to save us from our own people."

"No, sir monk, it was not at our behest we fought," Kent said, bowing. "Your gratitude belongs to our Lord, Lady Lyndis."

The monk turned to regard the younger pair of Mark and Lyn, the Sacaean girl fidgeting uncomfortably before making a stiff, awkward bow.

"I see," the old man smiled. "A Lycian lordling who is quite clearly of Sacaean birth? It is a strange time, indeed. A strange, strange time… Raise your head, young one. I trust you've come to lay hands on the sacred blade, yes? I give you my blessing, and the blessings of the Earth Mother."

"Th-thank you, wise one," Lyn stammered, her nervous face splitting into a smile.

She stood for a moment, watching as the old monk walked back towards the pulpit and sword until Mark nudged her in the back.

"Go on, this is what we came for, yeah?" he grinned. "I'll take care of our pet knights. Now, you two. Show me your weapons. I want to check their durability."

Lyn smirked at Mark's business-like tone, even as he teased their two companions, before turning once more to the pulpit. Her boots were almost disturbingly loud in the near-silence of the shrine now the others had left. The two younger monks were already silently going about the business of clearing up the mess and removing the bodies, a task she didn't envy of them, but the head monk was waiting near the pulpit.

"Now, child, touch the Mani Katti's hilt, and be blessed on your journey," he said.

Lyn nodded, reaching out and gingerly running her fingertips along the worn leather of the Mani Katti's handle, before resting her palm atop it. A faint warmth suffused her hand, before spreading to the rest of her body and drawing forth a gentle smile from the girl.

A blinding flash of light surprised Lyn and the monks, Lyn dropping to a crouch and holding her broken sword like a dagger as she looked around for an incoming attack, but the head monk's gasp brought her attention back to the Mani Katti.

"The blade… I don't believe it…" the old man muttered. "Young Lyn, I would ask that you try to draw the blade from its sheathe."

Lyn rose slowly, furrowing her brow as she tucked the broken sword back into her belt. "I… will try, but the legends say none can draw the sword."

"I am aware of what the legends say," the head monk chuckled. "But please, indulge this old man's whim."

Nodding, Lyn stepped forward again and faced the sword. She reached out, her hands hovering above the blade for a moment before she lifted it up, sheathe and all. With a growing sense of trepidation she wrapped her main hand around the handle and slowly pulled.

The Mani Katti slid free of its sheathe with ease, the perfect blade glinting in the afternoon sun streaming in through the hole she and Mark had made. Eyes wide with wonder Lyn's mind froze, unsure what to do now. It wasn't until the head monk started laughing that she looked up from the sword in her hand.

"Strange times, indeed," the old man laughed. "To think, I'd live long enough to see the wielder of the sacred blade…"

"Wielder?" Lyn repeated breathlessly.

"Of course," the head monk smiled. "The blade chose you. The Earth Mother has entrusted her sword with no other. With excellent timing, too, I see."

Lyn blushed, angling her hips so her broken sword was slightly hidden behind her. The head monk just smiled and shook his head, stepping forward again and resting rough, callused hands on her shoulders.

"Lyn of the Lorca, you are the wielder of the Mani Katti," he said, the reverent tone of his voice ruined by the wide smile on his face.

Lyn nodded woodenly, her face still slack with shock.

* * *

That evening, after sending a group to help the monks clean the shrine, the nomad tribes of the village had deigned to throw a giant party for the 'discovery of the wielder of the Mani Katti'. It was well after dark now, though, and to Mark the festivities didn't look like they would be winding down any time soon.

Kent was talking with a number of the nomad men about the differences between Sacaean and Lycian riding techniques by the fire. The red haired knight was still almost as dour as the nomads he was conversing with, but Mark was happy to see that he'd found something to keep him occupied besides chasing Sain around.

The other knight in question was still busy merrily dancing with the young women of the tribes, their laughter ringing loud into the night. As long as he didn't do anything to anger their hosts, Mark was content to leave him be, too.

The strategist himself was sitting aside from the others, watching the party and making notes in his journal. This was the first time he'd seen a Sacaean party in person, and he was enraptured by his curiosity. Everything about them was so alien, so fascinating, just as he had admitted to Lyn earlier that day.

Lyn, though, had disappeared with Isal earlier, for what he had no idea. By then he'd already been attempting to sketch the way the nomads sat around the fire in his journal.

"Is this how my master strategist spends his victory celebration? Alone, with his nose buried in his book?"

Mark glanced up at the familiar voice, grinning. "Why should I spend it any differently to how I spend any other… uh… wow…"

He trailed off when he looked up at Lyn, smiling down at him. It took a moment to recognize her. She had traded her damaged tunic for a scarlet one, similar to Isal's but longer at the bottom, reaching to her knees. Her hair had been braided, too, beads and feathers mixed into the long braids that fell over her shoulders and down her chest. Her new sword, the Mani Katti that had been the source of the day's trouble, hung proudly from her belt, her hand never drifting far from it.

"Isal loaned me the tunic," she said bashfully. "She insisted on fixing mine personally. And Ilit… Ilit wanted to braid my hair."

"It looks… uh… different," Mark managed lamely.

"Do… you like it?" Lyn asked shyly.

"It… you… ah… look great," the strategist mumbled.

"Thank you," Lyn laughed, reaching down and dragging Mark up by the wrist. "Now, enough watching. Come, let me teach you how Sacaeans dance!"

"No, Lyn, I can't dance! Stop!" Mark laughed, slipping his journal back into his pouch as he was dragged towards the fire and the other dancers.

Lyn just laughed, smiling over her shoulder again, and Mark felt all of his resistance to the idea leave him.

"Well, okay, but you have to let me make notes afterwards."

* * *

 **AN: The first chapter has been updated to hopefully differentiate between Mark and Robin. Hopefully this chapter differentiates them a little more, too. However I still find myself going to type 'Robin' more often than Mark… force of habit, I guess.**

 **So as you can all tell, I suck at naming stories.** _ **Blazing Trinity**_ **is just a place-holder until I come up with something better. Also, cover art. If any fan-artists out there want to contribute a piece as cover-art for this story, I'd be forever indebted.**

 **What does this story mean for my other serials? Absolutely nothing. I'm still working on** _ **Future's End**_ **, and the Self Insert is still my go-to when I have writers block or am tired or had a bad day or… you know, it's just my go-to. But since** _ **Future's End**_ **is so close to being done, and now I've finished** _ **A Song of Dusk and Dawn**_ **as an expanded prologue, and because I did promise that this story would commence in 2017… here we are. Next chapter may take a while to get out, but we're making progress!**

 **What lesson did I learn from** _ **Invisible Ties**_ **? Pacing. What lesson did I learn from** _ **A Song of Dusk and Dawn**_ **? Do. Not. Copy. The. Game. Script. Especially if you're going to add and expand on characters. Messes with your characterization.**

 **Follow me on Twitter for updates! - metalloverCAB**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Mark looked up at the mountains, a deep sense of foreboding in his chest that seemed to go totally unnoticed by his travelling companions. The wind howled mournfully through dagger-sharp peaks, cold grey stone meeting his gaze wherever he looked. The long, flowing grasses of the Sacaean plains had slowly but surely dwindled to the scraggy, limp weeds that now dotted the barren soil, brown and desiccated.

"Now make sure you keep warm," Isal was saying to Lyn in the wagon behind him. "Your Lorca tunic may be fine for the plains, but up here in the mountains it gets much cooler, especially at night."

"Yes, Isal," Lyn said, smiling.

"Are you sure you don't want one of mine? I have a spare," the older woman pestered.

"I'll be fine," Lyn smirked, rolling her eyes. "You already gave me your spare cloak."

The older Nomad woman let out a throaty laugh, wrapping Lyn in a tight hug.

"By the Mother Earth I hope it is a long time before my own little one speaks to me in that tone!"

"I'm sure Ilit will grow into a strong young woman before you know it," Lyn said, returning the embrace.

They had travelled with the Uciar tribe for the last week, the spirited women and the dour men making for fascinating travel companions, to say the least. Mark had almost filled his journal, he'd learned so much about the Sacaean people. From their diet to their hunting rituals, their dress codes and the way they interacted with other tribes, it was all utterly fascinating to him. Of course, to Lyn this was all common knowledge, Kent was interested in little more than Lyn's safety and all Sain cared about was wooing the Uciar ladies, so Mark was left alone to his musings most of the time.

Or so he had thought, but Isal's young daughter Ilit had grown quite fond of the surly strategist. She sat next to him on the wagon now, watching with wide, curious eyes as he scratched away with his charcoal pencil in his journal. He would have preferred ink, but he couldn't risk spilling his already dwindling supply if the wagon hit an unexpected bump. He would just ink the pages later.

"What's that word mean?" Ilit asked, stubby fingers suddenly pointing at the page Mark had just finished on.

"Therefore," Mark explained. "It's a fancy way of saying 'so'."

"Then why not just write so?" Ilit asked, looking up at him innocently.

"This makes me sound smarter," Mark shrugged.

"Read it to me?" the little girl asked, her long black braids swaying with the motion of the wagon.

Mark rolled his eyes, resigning himself to reading the whole page to the girl. It wouldn't have been the first time. She was insatiably curious, a strange trait for the Sacaean people, apparently. Mark almost had half a mind to suggest Isal send her daughter to the tactician academy Mark had come from. However, sending her there would require knowing how to get back home in the first place.

"Alright, but you probably won't understand," Mark sighed before clearing his throat and beginning to read his notes in a low voice. "We came upon another caravan heading inland from the mountains today. An offshoot group from the Kutolah tribe, from the looks of their iconography. I didn't ask. We pass so many other caravans on the plains it has gotten to be a chore trying to keep track of all the different clans and sub-clans. See the separate appendix page I've added at the back of this journal for notes I've made on clan markings. However, unusually this caravan had wagon covers made using the patterns that Isal had explained to me were from the Kutolah, therefore I can safely assume my guess is correct."

Ilit was silent for a moment before looking up at Mark again. "Why couldn't you just say 'we rode past another caravan that I thought were Kutolah'?"

Outside the wagon Mark heard Sain snicker, and the strategist blushed.

"Because I've been taught to write a certain way," he huffed, clapping his journal closed.

"You would probably not have filled up that journal so fast if you write simpler sentences," Lyn added.

Mark rolled his eyes, Ilit giggling as she moved to the older Sacaean girl.

"Mark is funny, isn't he?" Lyn cooed, both girls giggling now.

The strategist just sighed, rolling his eyes and tuning them out as he went back to studying the mountains. They were barren, at least when compared to the lush Sacaean plains. There were no trees to provide shade, although that wasn't surprising, given that Mark had seen very few trees the entire time he'd been in Sacae. But there was still something ominous, something foreboding about these peaks. Mark was no mage but he had known a few, and they often spoke of the residual effects of things coloring the landscape they happened on. A graveyard was a place of death, and even most non-mages could feel that. Likewise, a fairground was usually a place of life and fun, of happiness and joy, and this could be felt in the location's aura.

Mark couldn't help but think, as the wagon lurched to a final stop, that these mountains felt more like the graveyard example.

Still, though, the Uciar tribe barely seemed to register this malign aura as they dismounted the wagons, a protective ring of horsemen already moving to circle the defenseless wagons. Lyn was much the same, heedlessly jumping down from the back of the carriage before reaching back up to help Ilit down.

"Ah it feels good to stretch my legs again," she declared, setting the girl down.

Mark gave a noncommittal huff as he jumped down himself, stretching his back and eying the narrow mountain trail they would apparently be following.

"I miss the wagon already," he commented bitterly.

"All you have done for the last week was complain about the wagon and now you're finally out you want it back?" Lyn laughed.

"If I didn't complain you'd forget I was there," Mark shrugged.

He looked back at the wagon just in time to see his heavy pack, stuffed with his and Lyn's supplies and meagre belongings, come flying at his face. He managed to catch the bag-turned-projectile, glaring over top of it at a grinning Isal.

"If I had to carry that bag up that mountain I'd be complaining, too," the older woman chuckled, hopping down herself now and coming up to Lyn. "I'm sorry we couldn't spare one. Do you have everything you need, though? Enough supplies? Blankets for the nights?"

"Yes, Isal," Lyn laughed. "You and your tribe have been beyond generous. We have everything we need and then some. Right, Mark?"

"Yup, and I get to carry it all," the strategist groaned.

"The Uciar owe you a great debt, Lyndis of the Lorca," Isal said with a wan smile. "And I worry about one so young surrounded by nothing but foreign men."

"You have nothing to fear, Lady Isal," Kent promised, urging his mount alongside them. "My partner and I have sworn to uphold her safety above all else."

"Plus, I've seen her fight," Mark added dryly. "And trust me when I say I would not risk ending up on the receiving end of one of her little rampages for anything."

"I do not have rampages," Lyn huffed, blushing a little.

"Outside Bulgar?" Mark said, quirking a brow. "Or in the temple? Face it, you've got anger issues."

"I do not!" Lyn protested, looking to the Knight hovering above them. "Kent! Tell Mark I don't have anger issues!"

"I would not be as presumptuous as to state what you do or do not have, milady," the orange-haired knight stated diplomatically.

"Toldja," Mark grinned.

Isal gave a laugh, giving Lyn another tight hug. In the carriages and wagons behind them the other women and children were leaning out now, shouting their own advice and farewells, or just trying to get one last look at the travelers they were to part with. Mark found it almost strange how attached they had gotten, especially to the foreigners, but Isal was especially attached to Lyn.

"We will miss you," the older nomad said as she pulled back.

"And I you, Isal," Lyn smiled.

"Come, Ilit, their journey can wait no longer," Isal said to the small form wrapped around Lyn's leg.

"No!" Ilit cried. "I don't want Lyn to go!"

Lyn smiled softly, leaning down to give the girl a hug of her own now.

"This is not farewell forever," Lyn promised. "If you be a good girl we will see each other again."

"Really?" Ilit sniffled, looking up at the older girl.

"Really," Lyn nodded.

Ilit sniffled again, turning her big watery gaze on Mark. He frowned, but managed to resist the temptation to roll his eyes.

"Yeah, so… stop crying? I guess?" he shrugged. "A lifetime is a long, long time. I'm sure we'll be back through here sooner or later."

The girl nodded before sniffling one final time and crossing to her mother, latching onto the woman's hand.

"Farewell, travelers," Isal said with a final smile.

Mark turned away, tuning out the chorus of farewells from the Uciar tribe and glancing up at the steep mountain path. He gave a tired sigh, grip tightening on the straps of the bag on his shoulders.

"And hello mountain," he muttered.

* * *

The next few days Mark spent in a fatigued blur, focusing simply on putting one foot ahead of the other as the small party followed the mountain path. Lyn set a fairly harsh pace, one that the mounted Lycian knights seemed all too happy to keep to. Mark, on the other hand, felt that they were ignoring the fact that he was burdened with a pack containing the gear and supplies of two. At one point he had suggested that they jury-rig some saddle bags, just to get the heavier nonessential gear off his shoulders, but Kent and Sain had actually taken offense to his suggestion of using proud Lycian warhorses as 'common pack mules'. So, he was stuck. And apparently worth less to the knights than the horses.

The quartet came to the top of yet another rise, Mark letting out a tired sigh as his feet finally found purchase on flat ground again. Kent and Sain went further ahead, following the winding path around a nearby bend to scout ahead. The strategist glanced up as someone held a waterskin out to him, accepting it gratefully.

"You know, I could carry my own share," Lyn offered.

Mark took a long drink of the tepid water before answering, giving a relieved sigh as he felt some life return to his mind.

"In what, all your many hidden pockets?" he asked, handing the skin back. "We don't exactly have another pack. I'm more surprised those two idiots came all the way to Sacae with absolutely no supplies."

"Says the one I found passed out on the plains with nothing to his name except a sword and an old coat," Lyn agreed, smirking a little.

"Of course, I think you and I might have the opposite problem," Mark groaned, shrugging the heavy pack off and rotating his stiff shoulders. "Do we really need all of this junk?"

"Yes," Lyn laughed. "Are you sure you don't want me to carry it for a little while?"

Mark went quiet for a moment, glaring at the pack.

"Mark?" Lyn laughed.

"I'm considering it," he said thoughtfully. "Would that mean I get to carry the fancy sacred sword?"

Lyn laughed again, giving the strategist a playful shove. "Yes, but you still wouldn't be able to draw it."

"I could always just bludgeon people do death with the scabbard," he shrugged.

Before Lyn could retort and remind him that the Manni Kati was an important part of her cultural heritage and not some common club, the two knights came charging back around the bend. Mark took one look at their faces and let out a forlorn sigh, preemptively hoisting the bag back onto his shoulders as Lyn stepped to meet them.

"What news?" she asked.

"There's a small village in the hollow around the bend," Kent reported, all business. "It appears to have been attacked."

"Bandits?" Lyn asked, her hands already clenching into fists.

"Most likely," Sain sighed. "Whatever happened seems to be at least a few days old. There was no sign of either bandits or villagers. The entire area is in ruins. Why doesn't their marquess do anything to help?"

"Taliver Mountain is home to gangs of vicious, ruthless bandits," Lyn explained, looking down. "No marquess holds power here. My clan would make camp near here, on the other side of the mountain. My people were… The Taliver bandits came at night. It took only one night. The survivors numbered less than ten, including me."

The girl paused for a moment, before her gaze snapped back up. There were no tears, only grim determination. A survivor's grit, Mark assumed.

"They're soulless beasts," she said in a cold voice. "I will never forgive them. Never."

"Which is why we're travelling," Mark explained to the two knights. "To train. To come back and give them what's coming to them."

"I am not running away," Lyn declared. "I will be back…someday. I'll be stronger… I will break their swords beneath me like twigs beneath a stallion's hooves. I will avenge my people. I'll do everything in my power."

"We will," Mark corrected her.

Lyn paused for a moment to smile at the tactician, giving him a grateful nod. "Yes. Yes, we will."

"When that day comes, make sure to take me with you," Sain said, giving Lyn a wink.

"Sain?" she said curiously.

"And don't forget me," Kent added, grinning somewhat sheepishly. "We are Knights of Caelin. When our Lady goes to war, so too do we."

"All of us," Mark assured Lyn, resting a hand on her slim shoulder.

Lyn gave a choked-up laugh, turning away to wipe at her eyes.

"Thank you, all of you," she said, turning back to them with a radiant smile. "However, first we must pass through these mountains. And this ruined town. Mark?"

"Right," he said, dropping the hand at her shoulder. "We should move as a unit, stick together. The last thing we need is to get separated and overrun. Until we can discern their numbers and positions we'll need to be cautious. And subtle. Sain."

"I swear on my lance I will be the very definition of subtlety," the green-armored man said, rolling his eyes.

"You two go ahead and wait around the bend for us," Mark went on. "I'd like eyes on the village for as long as possible before we approach. Nightfall is in a few hours, and I'd like to know that nothing's going to sneak up on us while we rest, so let's get this done fast and proper."

"By your leave, Lady Lyndis," Kent said, looking to Lyn.

"Go," she nodded.

Mark rolled his own eyes, admittedly frustrated that his orders went ignored until Lyn gave the knights permission. But she was technically their lord, and there were more important matters to address than his bruised ego.

"Lyn, are you going to be okay?" he asked, coming alongside the young woman as they followed the knights.

"I will be fine," she said, her tone clipped.

"Just keep it together, okay?" he insisted. "Get as mad as you want, just don't break formation. There's only four of us. We need to fight smart. We need to be careful."

"I know, Mark," Lyn said, her jaw tight.

"I'll be right here, okay?" he added.

Lyn hesitated for a moment before some of the tension left her shoulders.

"Thank you, Mark," she said softly. "It is good to know you have my back."

"What? No, I'm trying to remind you you're my human shield," Mark scoffed with a grin. "So don't go running off. I also have all your stuff."

This time Lyn burst out laughing, shaking her head as they caught up with the knights. Mark stepped past them up to a ledge overlooking the field, inspecting the village the way he had been trained. Or what had once been a village, to be more accurate. A few buildings still stood, but most were charred ruins. Even those that remained had obviously seen better days, rough boards hastily nailed over holes and windows alike. A small hill protruded in the center of the village, cutting off their view of the far side and making Mark think that it would be the perfect place to walk into an ambush. Plenty of cover on their side, though. They could stick close to the buildings, carefully pick their way through. Lure the bandits into an ambush of their own.

Beside him Lyn tensed up again, and the strategist reached over and gave her shoulder another comforting squeeze.

"Advance slowly," Mark said, giving voice to his earlier thoughts. "Until we can verify that the village is clear I want us to proceed with caution-"

Mark's orders were cut off by a loud shriek from the opposite end of the village, behind the hill, and in his head the orders shifted. He gave an irritated groan and ran his hand down his face as the others looked to him.

"Forget everything I just said! Kent, Sain, move!" he shouted, gears turning in his head. "We'll be right behind you! Lyn, let's go!"

This time, to Mark's silent satisfaction, the two knights heeded his instructions and took off for the ruined village at a gallop. Lyn, too, raced after them, quickly outpacing him and leaving the over-burdened strategist to follow at his own pace. He trusted that she would show at least some restraint, although if she didn't then having two armored knights there to back her up wouldn't hurt her survivability any. Shaking his head clear Mark hoisted the pack further up on his shoulders, grumbling as he followed Lyn down the path into the village at a trot, wary of falling and twisting an ankle.

After only a few moments Lyn had left Mark far behind, too, burdened as he was with their gear. He knew, though, that with his luck the second he put the pack down some opportunistic scavenger, human or otherwise, would appear to relieve him of his meagre belongings.

By the time he caught up with the others they were already charging towards the bandits, the rough men's voices carrying through the deserted village. Whatever was going on had moved beyond the hill into their line of sight, a small miracle as far as Mark was concerned.

"Wait right there, little lady! What are you going to do to apologize? Huh? That thing landed on my damned face!"

There was a small girl next to the bandit, her lilac hair disheveled as she tried to pull her wrist free of his grip. She appeared to stammer something, but her thin voice didn't carry like the bandit's did.

"Hey, she's quite a catch, eh, buddy? I bet the boss'd give us a pretty penny for her."

Mark heard the second man speak perfectly, though, and judging from the burst of speed from Lyn she had, too. In a heartbeat she almost caught up to the knights on their horses. But they were still too far off. Seconds were an eternity on the field, anything could happen; it would take a heartbeat for a bandit to break the delicate-looking girl's arm, or run her through with one of their swords, or stab her with a hidden dagger, or any number of horrible things. Even just a change of positions could undo everything Mark was already coming up with, and the way things looked the battle-lines wouldn't stay static much longer. Deciding that he had to intervene before matters escalated and the young woman did end up hurt Mark began to rummage through his pockets, looking for something, anything that could help.

"Yeah. She roughed me up a bit, so I figure fair's fair. It's no more'n she deserves."

"What are we gonna do with her flyin' mule, though?"

"Don't you dare touch him!"

Mark definitely heard the girl that time, wincing at the high pitch of her voice. It was a panicked shriek. Things were deteriorating fast. Much too fast.

A few of the bandits had noticed Lyn and the knights now and were trying to get their leader's attention. Mark decided he was out of time just as his hand wrapped around something heavy in his coat's pocket, and without looking he pulled it out and threw it at the lead bandit as hard as he could. The small object sailed in a lazy arc through the air, Mark's aim true. The man jerked back as a glass vial shattered in his face, releasing the girl with a shout. The shout elongated, turning into a scream of agony as he clutched at his face. The bandit moved his hands to reveal what Mark had thrown; one of their precious vulneraries, healing around the shattered glass embedded in the bandit's face from the vial. Mark gave a little sound of disgust, lamenting the waste but grateful that his distraction had seemingly worked. Kent and Sain brought their horses rearing up before the men, the rest of the bandits shuffling backward into each other in their alarm.

"Unhand the lady!" Sain declared with a roar.

"Florina!" Lyn cried. "You monsters! Get away from her!"

"Miss, please retreat to the rear!" Kent called above the others' war-cries. "We have a companion still coming, he'll protect you!"

Mark slowed to a stop now, gasping for breath as he watched Lyn and the others from a safe distance. Once he caught his breath he'd join them. He only needed a moment.

"Stupid… stupid bag," he muttered, resting his hands on his knees. "Gods I hope the others don't see this. Ah, I am out of shape."

* * *

Lyn grit her teeth against the rage bubbling up inside her, mindful of her promise to Mark to maintain her composure. Still, though, the though of bandits ravaging this village as they had her own tribe caused her blood to boil and her grip to tighten around the Manni Katti's hilt. And whatever they had been planning to do to Florina…

How dare these men… How dare these monsters threaten little Florina like this?

The young pegasus knight in question fled in tears, leading her mount by the reins back toward where Mark was dawdling. Lyn barely noticed, so intent on the bandits before her. She fought to keep her anger in check, the way she had promised Mark she would, though. With a deep breath through her nose she came to a stop before the bandits, sword held low as Kent and Sain moved directly behind her, flanking her imposingly. The bandits backpedaled, coming together in one knot behind the one who had been shouting.

"Who the hell're you!?" the bandit who had been accosting Florina snarled through hands still clutched to his face.

"Friends of the girl you were trying to kidnap," Lyn snarled back.

"Leave this village and never return!" Kent called from above her.

"If you value your lives I'd take my companion's advice," Sain added more glibly.

The bandits milled about for a moment, a few looking to the whimpering man still holding his ruined face before they started to back away. After another moment they were in full flight, racing back through the ruined town and around the hill.

Lyn took a few subtle, deep breaths as she fought the urge to race after the men. Florina was safe, and Mark had sworn her to remaining calm. Bearing these two facts in mind Lyn watched the men retreat, clenching her teeth and willing herself to come down from the battle-high she was feeling. After a few moments to make sure the bandits wouldn't be coming back in the next few moments she sheathed the Manni Katti, turning towards the two knights.

"Kent, can you keep watch?" she asked tersely.

"It will be done," the knight said, eyes already scanning the village.

With that Lyn began walking back towards where Mark was still doubled-over, Florina standing meekly next to him with her pegasus. Sain brought his horse in at an easy canter beside her as she walked, the other knight grinning down at her.

"Well, that went well," he said cheerily.

"They'll be back," Lyn said darkly. "And with friends. We need to be ready."

Sain merely nodded, grinning encouragingly. Lyn couldn't resist casting a glare over her shoulder in the direction the bandits had disappeared in, though, silently willing them to return so she could take her anger out on them. They approached where Florina was waiting next to Mark, the timid young woman shyly trying to get his attention. She would sneak glances at the strategist in between trying to calm herself and wiping at her eyes. When she noticed Lyn approaching she perked up, but something in the other girl's gaze held her back.

"Um… ah… um…" Florina mumbled.

"That was fast!" Mark commented without looking up.

A smirk rose unbidden to Lyn's face, murderous thoughts from before momentarily forgotten.

"And how do you know we're not the bandits?" she asked.

"I know your footfalls," Mark said, shaking his head. "Plus, they didn't have horses. So, Kent and I are perfectly safe."

Sain snickered, and Lyn gave Florina an apologetic smile. The young pegasus knight just looked back and forth between Lyn and the two strange men.

"Mark, you're not standing with Kent," Lyn said, as evenly as she could.

This finally prompted the strategist to glance up, righting himself and taking in the town again.

"What do you mean I'm not- gah! Who're you!?"

Florina gave a little shriek, positioning herself behind Lyn with lightning speed. As Lyn laughed she couldn't help but think that it was a shame that Florina was so attached to pegasai; with her natural speed she would have made a fine swordsman.

Sain laughed, too, bringing his horse around Lyn's other side to lean down to the girl.

"How you could be so blind when such fragile beauty stands so close to you, Mark," he sighed theatrically, trying to catch Florina's eye. "Oh, dear flower, please grant me the gift of your name!"

"Easy, Sain," Lyn chuckled, stepping aside to present the other girl. "Mark, Sain, this is my old friend Florina, a pegasus knight in training from Ilia. She would spend much time with my tribe when we were younger. And she's a little shy around men. Sain."

"Oh, my heart, what cruel irony this is," Sain groaned, moving away from the pair a little to give Florina space.

"It's… nice to meet you, Florina," Mark said, glaring at the knight a little.

"Y-you too," she mumbled, barely looking up from Lyn's shoulder.

All of a sudden there was a change in the girl as she gasped, moving around to Lyn's front and flinging her arms around the shocked taller girl.

"Lyn I heard about what happened!" Florina cried. "I'm so sorry!"

Lyn started for a moment before she smiled sadly, running a hand through the other girl's hair comfortingly, trying in vain to straighten it a little.

"Come now, Florina, no more tears," she said encouragingly. "I appreciate the grief you share for my people, but now is not the time. Tell me, what are you doing here? You said you were returning to Ilia to join your sister's mercenary troupe."

Florina stepped back, sniffling and wiping at her eyes again. Fortunately she didn't notice how Sain perked up at the word 'sisters', and Lyn sent the man a warning glare.

"As soon as I heard what had happened I came rushing back," she explained. "I… didn't want you to be alone after… that… When I saw this village I decided to land and ask if they had news of you or your tribe, but…"

"So you did land on those men?" Mark asked, brow quirking.

"Well, I! I… a little… yes…" Florina mumbled.

The younger girl looked down, seemingly sagging under the weight of her light armor. She reached out, one small hand holding onto Lyn's sleeve as if for support.

"Did you apologize?" Lyn asked encouragingly.

"Yes!" Florina said, watery eyes darting up to Lyn's. "I did! I told them I was sorry many times over. They just wouldn't listen…"

"Don't cry Florina, it will be alright," Lyn assured her friend.

"Indeed! Dry your tears, Lady Florina!" Sain added unhelpfully.

"Um…" Florina mumbled, sniffling again as she glanced at Lyn.

"It's a long story, and one we don't have time for," Mark cut in. "This is still hostile territory. We need to find the bandits and ensure they don't assault any more villages or… travelling pegasus knights. Florina, can you fight?"

"I-I can!" she nodded.

Florina whirled, pulling a thin lance from her pegasus' saddle, giving the beast a loving pat before returning to the others. She clutched the weapon firmly in her hands, and Lyn was gladdened to see that she appeared to have taken the lessons they had been taught to heart.

"Right, you'll be flying support," Mark explained. "Sain and Kent, the other knight, are the frontline. Lyn's ground support, she moves in when there's an opening and falls back before the bandits get a shot at her. You do the same thing but from the air. And don't land on any of us. We're running low on vulneraries."

"Yes, and I wonder why?" Sain drawled with a smirk, leaning forward in his saddle again.

"Weren't you the one giving me grief about wasting them?" Lyn asked.

"Hey, improvisation is the mark of a true tactician," Mark shrugged before clapping his hands. "Right, Sain, let's go get Kent caught up. Then we can move into the village."

Lyn watched them go, a small grin rising to her lips as she watched Mark hitch the pack on his shoulders a little higher, already arguing good-naturedly with Sain about making saddlebags for the horses again. It was a little surprising to think of just how close she had come to the three men in only a few short weeks, but such was the way of the People of the Plains. You trusted your travelling companions, your tribe, with your life.

"Uh… Lyn?" Florina asked hesitantly. "Who are these people?"

"The two Knights are Kent and Sain," she explained, favoring her old friend with another smile. "Mark is my strategist. They're my friends."

* * *

It was with no small amount of surprise that Mark watched Sain catch his partner up on their plan, sticking to the important points of what they had learned and not even making mention of how pretty he had found Florina. Seeing Sain act professionally almost made Mark uncomfortable, if he were honest.

The strategist glanced back over his shoulder to where Lyn and Florina were now beginning to make their way over, the older girl smiling while Florina looked to be more at ease now. He took a moment to study the newcomer; thin limbs with little excess fat, her long lilac hair reaching halfway down her back was messy but appeared to be well cared for, her pale blue armor looked clean and properly maintained, as did her lance, and the pegasus seemed even-tempered despite its skittish master. Mark had to admit, even though she had calmed down now she still seemed both very young and also out of her element. He had no idea where Ilia was or what it was like in the place, but to force women so young to become mercenaries it must have been harsh.

He took the chance to peer around the village again, looking for signs of life. It wasn't usual in his admittedly limited experience for people in a small village like this to just up and leave. People that lived in these kinds of places became hardy, stubbornly defending their homes from nature and outsiders alike.

As his thoughts wandered he almost missed the sound of skittering debris from one of the ruined houses, spinning and drawing his sword as a plain-looking youth stepped out of the building's burned-out doorway.

"Hey! Woah! Hi there!" the youth said.

The newcomer held his hands up non-threateningly, a bow resting slackly in one hand as he waved his empty hand a little for emphasis. He stopped a few paces away from Mark and the Knights, grinning a little. He wore simple clothes under a basic leather breastplate, his bow old and well-worn, his short brown hair neither messy nor neat. He could almost be considered handsome in a plain sort of way, the kind of man that village girls would happily settle down with. Mark noted that the quiver hanging from his hip was almost empty, and his bowstring looked slightly slack.

"That was nice work with those bandits," he added. "I'm Wil, and I've been-"

Whatever he was going to say was cut of by Florina's shriek, and as the four men turned they were treated to the odd sight of a girl and a full-grown pegasus trying to hide behind a befuddled Lyn.

"Lyn! Lyn, it's an archer! What do I do!?" Florina shouted, peeking around Lyn's shoulder.

"Hey, easy, I'm not here to fight, I'm here to help!" the young man, Wil he'd introduced himself as, called to the girls.

Mark didn't lower his sword, but he did decide to give the young man a chance.

"Okay then, Wil, talk. You said you wanted to help?"

Wil turned back to Mark, giving him a wide grin, his hands still up.

"I'm a traveler, just like you," he explained. "These villagers have been kind to me, so I've been doing my best to try and keep the bandits at bay. I've been trying to keep the others safe, but it's kind of hard to do with just myself and this old bow. I was actually going to help out the young woman there before you lot showed up, then I figured it would be best to cover you until you scared them off."

Mark slowly nodded. The archer's story made a certain sense, although how much he trusted it was another matter. It was oddly convenient that another traveler just happened to be in town at the same time as them. Although his disheveled appearance and worn equipment did provide evidence for his story. Deciding to take the young man on faith, at least until Lyn could weigh in, he lowered his sword and waved the girls over. Wil gave a small relieved sigh, taking Mark's actions as acceptance and lowering his own hands.

"You heard that?" he asked Lyn.

She nodded, stepping up to Wil.

"Will you aid us?" Lyn asked without preamble.

"If you're set on taking those bandits down then yes," Wil said, finally frowning as he looked around at the ruined village. "They've done enough damage to this place."

"My Lady, I would advise caution," Kent spoke up.

"If it helps, I can tell you where the villagers are," Wil piped up. "Just past the hill there's a hidden path that leads into a small valley. There's fresh water in a spring down there and an overhanging rock, so the villagers hide there when the bandits come. I can show you once the fighting's over."

"It's okay, Kent," Lyn said. "I trust him. Mark?"

The strategist sighed slightly, shaking his head. Of course, it would be easy for a bandit acting the part of a Good Samaritan protecting the villagers to get closer to them, and with Lyn's history it would be even easier for such a deception. Wil seemed genuine, but Mark was nothing if not cautious.

"Wil, fall in with me," the strategist said. "You so much point an arrow at the others and I'll stab you. The rest of you stick to the same plan. Wil, do you have a rough idea of how many there are?"

"Yes sir! At least fifteen, maybe more, maybe less," the local archer said. "They tend to come and go as they please. I think they're part of a larger band that operates in the area, but I don't recognize any of the group that you chased off."

"Okay, questions?" Mark asked, looking from face to face.

Florina very slowly raised her hand, avoiding eye contact with Mark.

"Wh-what… do I do if… there's more… a-archers?" she asked quietly.

"Duck," Mark deadpanned.

His cold tone made the girl wince and fold in on herself, clasping her hands in front of her chest and shuffling behind Lyn. The other girl frowned at Mark, and the strategist rolled his eyes.

"You just focus on your part of the plan, Lyn and Wil are going to be on archer-patrol, okay? Guys?" Mark sighed.

As he spoke he quirked a brow at Lyn, who nodded satisfied.

"Aye-aye, sir!" Wil said excitedly.

"Alright! Let's go secure us a safe place to camp so I can take this bag off!" Mark declared.

"I offered to carry it," Lyn pointed out with a grin.

Mark just rolled his eyes, already moving for the hill in the center of the village.

* * *

Pressed low to the bare face of the village's small hill Lyn breathed the scent of the earth, dusty and cold unlike the familiar scents of the plains. There was no flowing grass here in the mountains; such a small thing for her to notice but a fact that bothered her nonetheless. It was different and alien, and it made her uncomfortable. Like sleeping in Anna's inn for more than a few days at a time it made her restless, anxious for the familiar soft caress of the flowing grasses of the plains.

Beside her Mark and Wil both lay, the archer calmly waiting for the strategist's signal while Mark listened carefully for their cue. Below them at the foot of the hill Florina waited astride her pegasus, lance in hand and face set in grim expression. Or rather, as grim as the delicate girl could get. Kent and Sain were across the village, already racing through the abandoned streets atop their mounts.

Mark's plan to use the horses' superior speed and maneuverability was simple; the knights would strike first, passing through the bandits, then Lyn and Florina would attack while they were confused, while Wil picked his targets and helped where he could. Mark, still burdened by the pack he was refusing to relinquish, would watch over them.

It was a good plan, and Lyn could feel her teeth grinding together in her desire to see the bandits fall beneath her blade, the hilt of her sacred sword almost seeming to vibrate in her grip in answer to her bloodlust.

Behind them in the town Kent gave a shout and he and Sain veered left around the hill. Some of the bandits on the other side heard and looked up, the sound of pounding hooves now attracting their attention, but it was too late. Without further warning the two Lycian Knights tore through the stunned bandits, sword and lance flashing in sprays of red and clouds of dust as the two men charged through the press of bodies. In the briefest of moments they had passed through, leaving twin trails of wounded and bleeding men in their wake. Lyn gave a low growl, ignoring the concerned glance Mark was shooting her. She had to focus, to rein in her bloodlust and her desire for revenge. They had a plan, and she couldn't charge into the fray until Kent and Sain came back around and fully engaged the bandits. As much as she wanted to.

Lyn clenched her teeth, willing herself to be calm, to be patient, to not disappoint Mark further.

Then Kent and Sain came back around crying challenges at the bandits and capturing their attention, and before the men had even finished turning Lyn was up and running.

"Lyn, wait- dammit I said wait!" Mark hissed.

She ignored him, up and moving, already sliding down the hill towards the bandits.

Giving her own war cry Lyn barreled towards the bandits, pumping her arms and legs for all they were worth, fully aware that her face was twisted in a horrible snarl. A few of the bandits turned back but by then she was already amongst them, the razor-sharp edge of the Manni Kati cutting a bloody swathe through the men. With another enraged snarl Lyn spun, the sword neatly decapitating one of the taller men. Still she was moving, thrusting the way her mother had taught her on the rare occasions the older woman schooled her in fencing, another bandit shrieking as he was impaled. Lyn tore the weapon free with too much force, unused to the keenness of the sword, and was splattered with gore as the bandit fell. She ignored it, gnashing her teeth and turning again.

She heard Florina land behind her, the girl's pegasus giving an angry snort as bandits fell away from her, the men shouting something. It was all just a dull roar in Lyn's ears, words unnoticed and unheeded.

She smiled, her gore-streaked face actually causing some of the weaker men to back away.

Lyn wouldn't give them the chance to flee, though.

Mark cursed as he watched Lyn slide down the hill, rolling his eyes and turning back to wave Florina up. Technically she had done as he asked and waited for the knights to engage, but Mark had been hoping to have the bandits be more invested in the Lycians before their second group attacked from the rear.

Florina gave a nod and spurred her mount into the air, Mark and Wil both shielding their eyes from the clouds of dust the pegasus' great wings blew into their faces. As Florina and her mount flew off Mark was slightly surprised to see that the creature was male, given her clear dislike of the opposite sex. He mentally filed the information away for later perusal, focusing instead on the battle at hand.

"Should I start shooting?" Wil asked unnecessarily.

"Yes, Wil, start shooting," Mark sighed, coughing a little on the lingering dust. "Pick your shots. I don't want you being out of arrows if one of the others really needs assistance."

"You got it," Wil nodded.

The archer slithered up to the top of the hill and took a knee, nocking an arrow and letting out a breath as he drew the string back. Before he inhaled again Wil released, the arrow whistling into the crowd of bandits. The projectile struck true, burying itself between the shoulder blades of a bandit that was about to swing his axe at Kent's blind spot. The knight didn't even notice, but as Wil finally inhaled he gave Mark a triumphant grin.

"Yeah, great, now do it again," the tactician said, rolling his eyes.

The other man gave a cheerful laugh, grinning as he carefully selected another arrow. Mark was only half-paying attention to him, more concerned with Lyn's breathtaking anger management problems. As he watched she was covered in blood, and Mark made a disgusted sound when she simply ignored it. Of the seventeen bandits he had counted there were already only six remaining. Across the battle the two knights were faring well against the bandits, making good use of their superior reach and mobility. Wil shot two more arrows, making clean hits in support of both Florina and Kent, and Mark came to a snap decision.

Lyn was acting rashly again. She wasn't watching her blind spots and was getting too tied down fighting individual foes as opposed to the enemy force as a whole. She was liable to get herself killed at this rate, and Mark couldn't have that.

"Wil, keep shooting support and watch my bag," he said, shrugging off the heavy bag. "Shoot one of us I stab you. Touch my stuff-"

"And you'll stab me?" Wil cut in. "Go. I promise I won't shoot you."

Mark turned to glare at the archer but Wil wasn't paying attention, too busy sighting down another arrow and waiting for an opening to shoot at the bandits again. The strategist rolled his eyes and turned away, sliding down the loose shale of the hill in a far less dignified manner than Lyn had.

"I'll hold you to that," Mark called over his shoulder.

Once he reached the bottom of the hill he drew his rapier and started towards the melee. Florina spotted him and swooped low, her pegasus making a graceful landing. The girl atop the mount was fare less composed, unable to meet Mark's questioning gaze.

"Is e-everything… are we… did I…" Florina stammered.

"Everything's fine, go keep an eye on Wil," Mark said, barely breaking stride. "If Sain or Kent look like they need it do a few fly-bys. I'll watch Lyn's back."

"R-right…" Florina mumbled, nudging her mount back into the air.

Lyn gave an enraged shout as she struck a blow that tore the axe out of her opponent's hands, neatly pirouetting and slashing across his throat. Mark winced again before shaking it off and starting towards her. Two more bandits began to back away and the irate Sacaean girl began advancing on them, her shoulders hunched and her breathing ragged.

"Curse you!" Lyn snarled suddenly at the men. "I curse you in the name of my tribe! You and all the Taliver bandits!"

Both men fairly quaked at her wrath and Mark clicked his tongue in annoyance, quickening his pace. One of the men shook his head, throwing his axe at the ground as the other tried to shield himself with his own axe.

"Please! We're not Taliver! We're from the Ganelon-"

"You're all the same!" Lyn thundered, her voice breaking.

As she yelled Lyn brought the sacred Manni Katti down in a rough overhead chop, almost cleaving the unarmed man's arm clean off. He gave a squeal and dropped, desperately trying to crawl away. Mark ignored him, knowing a fatal wound when he saw one. The surviving bandit retreated another few steps, sweating profusely but actually lifting his weapon.

"P-please!" the man screamed in terror. "Mercy!"

"Lyn!" Mark called.

"Men are given mercy!" Lyn practically screamed. "Dogs get put down!"

The Sacaen struck with blinding speed, Mark not even seeing her sword strokes, but the bandit fell in a bloody, lifeless heap all the same.

"Lyn!" Mark called again, closer now.

She spun, bringing her weapon up. Mark caught the sacred sword on his rapier, suddenly glad he'd thought to draw it. His arm almost buckled from the strength of Lyn's blow. He knew that if she hadn't recognized him there was no way he could have avoided her second attack, but the light of recognition came quickly to her eyes and she frowned.

"I followed your plan," she said slowly, defensively.

"You did," Mark said, lowering his rapier and gesturing around them with his free hand. "But we're done."

Lyn whirled, sucking in a breath. Kent and Sain were standing watch over three wounded bandits who were doing their best to staunch their wounds not far away. Wil was standing watch atop the hill, bow in hand but no arrow drawn, and Florina came in for another landing as far away from the bandits as possible before having the pegasus trot over. Lyn's gaze lingered on the wounded men and with a sinking feeling Mark watched her jaw clench, her hand tighten on her sword's hilt, her knuckles whiten and her breathing hasten.

"No, we're not," Lyn growled. "Not yet."

She started moving towards the wounded men, a predator stalking her prey, and Mark stepped before her to halt her progress.

"Lyn, don't you dare," he said in a low, warning tone.

"Mark. Move," she said without meeting his gaze.

"I won't let you kill unarmed men," Mark hissed.

"They're dogs! Animals!" Lyn seethed through clenched teeth.

"This isn't you," he said, his eyes narrowing. "Kill them and you'll be no better than them."

It only took a second for Mark to realize what a mistake his words had been. Lyn's nostrils flared and her eyes widened, and for a moment he was worried she would strike him. To her credit, though, Lyn turned and spat in the direction of the bandits before turning and stalking away.

"Wil!" she shouted. "Where's that spring you spoke of? Florina, come! Let us… clean up."

Mark actually managed to catch Florina's eye this time, mouthing the words _keep an eye on her_ and jerking his chin at Lyn. The other girl flinched but nodded all the same, urging her mount to follow her friend. With a sigh Mark turned back to the wounded, walking over with a frown on his face.

"Well, that looked intense," Sain commented idly.

"Problem?" Kent asked bluntly.

"No problem," Mark shook his head.

The strategist moved to stand before the wounded bandits, all of them looking up at him with exhausted gazes.

"Get up," Mark said suddenly. "Get out. I just went through the effort of saving your worthless lives. Come back and I won't bother next time. And tell your bosses that this village is off-limits."

The three men stood slowly, unsurely. One of them blinked at Mark, holding his arm close to his body and favoring his left leg as he shuffled forward.

"Who should we tell 'em did this?" the bandit asked.

Mark stopped, caught off guard by the question for a moment. He glanced up at Kent and Sain; the red-haired knight said nothing, the other man giving a very unhelpful shrug.

"Tell them Lyn's Legion patrols these mountains now," Mark said, turning back to the men. "And that they, and all of your kind, are no longer welcome."

Without further words the men backed away a few feet before turning and racing out of the village and into the mountains. There was a moment of silence between the strategist and the knights before something fell at Mark's feet. He glanced down to see his bag, Wil standing not far behind it.

"Gods but that is heavy," the archer huffed, straightening and giving Mark a winning smile. "So. Lyn's Legion, huh? Where do I sign up?

* * *

 **AN: We're back! I know, I know, the Blazing Blade curse says that most novelizations of this story never make it past Lyn's campaign. WELL I'M HERE TO BUCK TRENDS! It just… might take a while. Good news is that I've added this story to my regular update cycle/schedule. So hopefully it won't take six months for another chapter to come out. This was just one of those chapters that… wouldn't. It was a struggle to make the magic happen, and I'm not super satisfied with it, but hey. There's always next chapter. I was gonna make this one longer, but dammit if that wasn't a perfect way to end it.**  
 **ANNOUNCEMENT TIME!**  
 **Metallover's back, and in a big way! After a few months of soul-searching and rejection letters I've decided that this is where I belong for now, and I've got plans for the next few years' worth of stories. I'm rocking a (P)atreon account now, so check the link on my bio and give it a look! Please consider dropping a few bucks for my work, I'd really appreciate it. By doing so you'll not only be supporting me, but you'll be getting access to drafts, previews and exclusive video-blog posts! Also, like, chapters early and stuff. Maybe art? Original works? Who knows! It's gonna be great!**


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